Heroes of Olympus Book Two: The Son of Neptune
by Lee Athenson
Summary: My version of The Son of Neptune. Some changes to the myths behind the story, due to research and some adaptation for effect. Percy POV; AU, now that the offical has been published.
1. One: Lessons Learned

**Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book **_**The Lost Hero**_** and the first published chapter of the actual **_**The Son of Neptune**_**; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Lessons Learned<strong>

Two months ago, I woke up with a massive headache, throbbing in the darkness of my clamped shut eyelids. I sat up groaning, expecting the bracing scent of sea-salt hanging in the air. Instead, I smelled only the cloying smell of decaying earth. It only made matters worse when I opened my eyes. I don't know about you, but I prefer to wake up in a bed – not on a pad of rotting leaves; in a house – not in the middle of flame-broiled ruins surrounded by looming woods; with some sign of human habitation nearby – not in stone cold silence. The sky seared my eyes with an unforgiving, fierce blue, forcing me to look away.

Not one of my better days.

Of course, I wasn't going to immediately panic. Something told me I was made of sterner stuff – but I couldn't be sure.

That was another thing. It wasn't bad enough that I had no clue where this shimmering – and I mean _literally_ shimmering, like the air couldn't decide whether to be gas or liquid – where this decrepit house was, or how I had gotten here. But I also didn't know my own identity, and that's the sort of thing you don't forget lightly. My headache seemed to be pounding with the name _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth, _but I figured that probably wasn't my name. I knew Annabeth was important somehow, but couldn't remember why.

I clambered to my feet and examined my clothes, hoping for some kind of clue, but let me tell you – never rely on clothes to tell you who you are. They are not a reliable source. A tattered, mud-streaked and – and – was that _blood_? The faded t-shirt hung loosely off my shoulders, stains covering the black lettering on the orange field. I rubbed the palm of my hand on the stains, but only made them worse. The letters spelled something along the lines of _CAHFLOD_, which, to the normal English speaker, didn't mean anything. Perfect. But as I rubbed the shirt, my hand brushed something hard hanging around my neck. I peeled it off my chest, untangled it from under my shirt, and discovered the mystery object to be a twine necklace with several colorful clay beads, all of which meant nothing to me. One black bead covered in miniscule Greek letters gave me a nasty twinge in my stomach and brought on a terrible headache when I tried to remember, which wasn't very helpful.

A breeze skated across my back, and I turned towards it gratefully. The sun was beating down with intensifying heat, and the wind felt awesome; but as I moved, I noticed I was barefoot. Only the icing on the cake of a day full of unpleasant surprises. Speaking of which…

A twig snapped. I twirled towards the noise, and my gut fell through my toes. A massive grey wolf stalked towards me from the other side of the ruined house. It looked poised and graceful, leering as it trotted towards me, like it found teenagers in trashed houses every day, and it knew they made rather tasty afternoon snacks. Instinctively, I stumbled backwards, my right hand searching my pants pocket. I clamped on a small cylinder, and, my hopes high, yanked it into my sight.

A ballpoint pen.

A pen.

A _pen_? Really? Still, against all reason, I felt slightly bolstered, like the pen was going to protect me. With this thought, I realized that I might be completely mental. Well, at least if I was crazy, I would feel brave being hunted by a wolf and might die happy. I uncapped the pen, prepared to write my last will and testament on my shirtfront, and blinked several times before my brain processed what it saw. When uncapped, my pen grew into a gleaming bronze sword, its form distinct despite the hazy mist in the air. Suddenly, I sort of remembered: My name was Perseus Jackson, son of Sally Jackson, owner of Anaklusmos – Riptide. Best of all, while I couldn't remember specifics, I knew I had fought things much fiercer (as well as more disgusting, and larger) than a wolf.

"Come on, you mangy mutt," I muttered, a relaxed into a good sword fighting stance. Confidence abruptly boiling in every part of my brain, a crazy grin materialized on my face, and I tossed the sword between my hands a few times to set my grip on the handle. "Let's do this."

The wolf slunk closer, stepping towards me with its body at an angle, as if to size me up. I knew it was measuring how much of a threat I was, and I welcomed it; the next few minutes were promising to be very interesting.

SLAM. With the speed of a snake, the wolf darted forward, crossing the fifteen feet between us in a second, and crashed into my shoulder. Miraculously, I rolled immediately to my feet and resumed my stance before the wolf stuck again, my shoulder and back aching, but adrenaline rushing through my veins. The wolf charged, and immersed me in several minutes of sword fighting – if you could call it that. The wolf used its tail to knock my feet out from under me, met my slices with a chest slam or snapped at my sword hand, glistening yellow fangs reeking of dog breath, knocked me over with massive strength in its clawed forepaws, and sustained several unpleasantly oozing gashes from Riptide's edge. Fear knotted in my throat as I realized the wolf was far from your average predator – it had battle experience and a strangely human-level intellect. It was analyzing my battle-style as much as I used to – used to –

"Argh!" I groaned, grabbing my temple as my headache exploded in a new wave of pain. I shuffled away from the wolf blindly. Why couldn't I remember?

The wolf took advantage of my moment of weakness and downed me with a forceful pounce. I gasped for air, the wind having been knocked out of me, and groaned again, as the fall had slammed my head into the cement floor of the house ruins, which wasn't helping my migraine.

"Excellent, little hero," the wolf growled. For some reason, the wolf having a human voice failed to a faze me. The wolf paused, an intelligent light shining in its eyes, then, very distinctly, grimaced. "Chiron."

"Sorry?" I asked, completely baffled.

"_Where did you come from?"_ the wolf growled in an intense voice.

Startled, I did the only thing I could: answer truthfully. _"I don't know, I can't remember anything. I woke up here a few minutes ago. My name's Percy."_

"_I know, Perseus Jackson, Son of Neptune," _The wolf said dismissively, though looked smug for some reason. _"I am Lupa. Goddess of wolves and leader of the Roman legion camp."_

Wolf goddess glaring down at me from standing on my chest; great. Ancient Roman god of the sea and earthquakes as my dad; spectacular. More pressing though, was the leap my amnesiac mind had just made, connecting with non-existent memories on some level. I paused, my mouth half-open, and stuttered in English, "Did – did I – did I just s-speak in another language?"

"You reek of the Styx," Lupa spat at me, her teeth slowly becoming more visible from underneath her black lips and inching towards my throat. I'll admit it, I was nervous now. I fidgeted, pressing my neck hard against the ground and tried to slow my fluttering heartbeat, knowing that if she bit me, I'd bleed slower.

"And you are _awfully _close to my throat," I commented hoarsely. To my horror, she leaned forward, snapped at my throat, and pulled powerfully.

She used her teeth to clamp onto my shirt and yanked me forward. Propelled by her tug, I landed on my feet. I gasped in a few breaths, and given that I had just thought I was going to die, you have to give me some credit. At least I didn't do anything ridiculous like throw up – which, admittedly, my stomach seemed to be considering. When my head cleared, I saw a grey smear retreating into the woods, abandoning me in the middle of the ruins. Crazy wolf goddess or not, she was the only one that could help me. I jogged after her on trembling legs.

As I forayed into the depths of the wood, the rubble of wolf's house glared forlornly at my back, the crumbling stone chimney standing stoically above its fallen brethren. I tried to ignore the lost and unfortunate air the place exuded, but it was impossible. I had the terrible feeling that hardship would be my companion for a while after being here.

This feeling proved itself true almost immediately: I lost sight of Lupa.

Cursing in the same language I had used earlier, I stared hard around the woods with a creeping urge to yell. Why me? Why did I have to lose the stupid wolf? And _why_ couldn't I remember anything?

My fury faded when I heard a growling voice resonating between the trees. It had no clear point of origin, no matter how I cocked my head and turned, so I was resolved to listening only to the words.

"_Follow your instincts,"_ it rumbled.

It wasn't like I had much other choice. I breathed deeply, closed my eyes, and – feeling supremely idiotic – tried to figure out which way to go from sheer instinct. For several seconds, I stood there, my legs trembling from nerves, Riptide weighing heavily in my hand, my feet aching from running with no shoes, and all I could feel was immensely peeved and totally miserable. Yet, a faint tingling in my mind forced my feet to turn and face a direction slightly to my right.

"Might as well," I mumbled, and flicked my eyes open to start chasing Lupa. To my surprise, instead of having only a gut feeling to guide me, my eyes automatically identified a very faint, but very fresh, game trail of broken twigs and barely visible paw impressions in the leaf litter. My crushed confidence returning, I honed in on the newfound skill and jogged along the trail. I jogged for almost twenty minutes, zigzagging as the trail did and listening to the warbling chatter of songbirds.

I took a deep breath and scented wolf on the breeze – and realized I must be getting close. I picked up my pace, my toes digging deep in the dirt and wet leaves, and traced Lupa's path with increasing ease. Unfortunately, she had decided retrace her steps in order to throw me off. I found ways of cutting across to more distinct trails, and followed her general direction. Finally, I saw the fainted flicker of a grey, bottlebrush tail snapping around a tree and out of sight. Breathing hard, I sped up, my legs pounding the ground in a full out sprint.

"_Be prepared,"_ the echoing voice growled, but this time, it was closer. _"Never charge into battle without a plan."_

"I won't," I panted. Man, sometimes I wish I could keep my mouth shut. Just as I managed to spit that out, I turned around the same trunk I'd seen Lupa disappear behind, and swiftly tumbled down a steep cliff face of mud, rocks, and roots. Head over heels, heels over head, tumbling – tumbling – tumbling. I smashed my head on a few roots, jarred my elbow, and melted on the inside from humiliation. Then again, I supposed there was no one around to see it, but that thought didn't help much.

I crashed to a stop, head spinning, aching all over, my butt firmly planted in a mud bank. My feet sunk into the gushing crystalline water of a creek running over the slippery, mossy rocks. Curiously, my toes were cool, but not wet. Then I remembered…

_Son of Neptune_.

No way. I scooted oh-so-dignified to the water's edge and sat down in the current. The water washed away the mud on my clothes, but again, I stayed dry. With a sigh, I collapsed back on the bank, lying on cushiony ferns, and momentarily forgot about chasing Lupa. I let the water run across my legs and enjoyed the feeling of belonging.

But it was more than that.

Gradually, I felt strength returning to me. I must have run three miles in the woods, the last minute at a full sprint, but my breathing slowed to normal almost immediately. I felt like I could run that again, but faster, much faster. I looked down and realized the mud and blood was washing off my legs – so too were the aches and pains I had gotten by running pell-mell through the woods and fighting a wolf goddess. I noticed that while I hurt, I wasn't actually damaged in any way – no scratches, no bruises, no broken bones. It shouldn't be possible, but I couldn't locate a single injury. I wondered if it was because I was in the water, or something else. My mind cleared, and I hesitantly rose to my feet, realizing what I hadn't noticed before: I was being tested. Lupa wanted to know that I was strong enough before she helped me.

Before I moved or made more mistakes, I scanned the surrounding area for the flash of grey I needed to find. No luck. Then I focused on my instincts, letting them guide me. I saw where they wanted me to go, but I waited, looking for more traps. I breathed a sigh of relief that the water had cleared my mind; the direction I needed to go was covered in bristles, pines, and - discreet in the dappled light - a trip wire on the clearest path. I decided to follow the gushing creek as far as I could. I capped Riptide to free my hands, then moved carefully over the mossy rocks, afraid to fall and hurt myself again, all the while watching the cliff sides for movement.

A mass of black and grey rustled in the shadows up on the ledge to my left. I searched for the clearest route up the muddy slope, scanned for traps, checked with my instincts to be sure it was the proper direction, and, all senses answered positively, made for the top. It took forever, but when I made it to the top of the cliff face, I smiled. I had managed to do something without screwing up. Still, I was tired again, the power of the water having left me.

I was relieved when Lupa approached me out of the woods, instead of me having to hunt her down. Her expression was unreadable, but her inhuman eyes glinted with a fierce light. I took it to be pride, but hey. She could have been planning how best to eat me. I wouldn't have known the difference. I saw what I wanted and was happy with that.

"Excellent, little hero," she growled. "I can see it in your eyes."

"What–"

"Understanding. Now understand this: I am trying to help you. Follow my orders and you have a chance of survival. Fail to, and you will be consumed." She began to glow, her form luminous in the mottled shadows of the woods.

"I hope you don't mean literally consumed?" I said hesitantly.

She didn't answer. "The Doors of Death have been opened. All monsters you face will reform much quicker than you remember. We are in times of strife and upset. Things are stirring in the primordial ooze, and it is crucial that the strongest heroes survive to protect the house of the great Roman gods."

"But–" Monsters? This was starting to sound familiar. Although I didn't like the sound of the _stirring in primordial ooze_ bit, I knew she was telling the truth about the Roman gods existing. I could feel it, somewhere in the shards of memories I had left.

"You must prove yourself to be one of the strongest heroes. You must protect the gods. To do so, you must find my camp. Follow your instincts, be prepared, and always have a plan. Defeat the monsters you meet if you can, but do not waste your time on them. They will rise again. Remember to always help those in need." Lupa's form started to shimmer and fade. She glared, proud and strong, fiercer than anyone I'd ever met, into my eyes, daring me to challenge her. "Join my legion, Perseus Jackson. Fail to and die."

With one final glare, she sat and howled. When her lucent call faded into the air, her form disappeared completely.

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><p>From then on, I'd been on the run. I found my way out of the woods with surprising ease, and followed my instincts wherever they led me. They were the only directions I had, and besides, if I didn't at least try to find Lupa again, I would be what? <em>Consumed<em>. Oh yeah, _Fail to and die._ Wonderful parting words. Very inspiring.

So, regardless of my very dark personal feelings on the subject, I obeyed the seemingly random gravitational pulls and trails that lit up in my eyes whenever I accessed my instincts. I managed to find food along my journey across the countryside, stopping at the occasional gas station and stealing (ouch) or stopping at the occasional farm and stealing (again, ouch. I mean, I'm not a son of Mercury). I picked up plenty of other supplies at Goodwill, like the shoes on my feet and six rolls of duct tape, and kept them all in a very worn backpack that was currently clinging to my shoulders.

I followed major roads and never seemed to run into anyone suspicious. Minus, of course, the hobo with notably bad breath who turned into a hydra; it took me several tries to kill the stupid thing, what with all its regenerating heads that spit acid and fire.

And the large golden retriever with a dog tag labeled "Simba" that I ran into at a gas station. I was innocently browsing through the food aisles and pocketed a burrito (my headache worsened as a voice in my head yelled, "Enchiladas!") when the dog saw me and morphed into a rampaging griffon. The crazed bird-lion monster proceeded to dive bomb me with every wrapped piece of Mexican food in the place until I managed a narrow escape (also known as diving into a truck bed as it pulled onto the interstate).

Oh, and two of the gorgons, who I met in a pet store, selling rats (so they could feed their snake hair, I suppose). They saw me trying to hide from the griffon, then proceeded to set every animal in the store after me.

Fortunately, none of the monsters I faced were able to lay a finger on me. I don't know why, but their teeth and claws and beaks and snakes and swords and flame-breath and acid spit couldn't hurt me. It was awesome to feel invincible. Still, there was this creeping feeling in the base of my spine that somehow, a monster would figure out how to kill me and _caput, _I'd be dead. All in all, though, I was doing fairly well.

But the griffon and the gorgons were still after me. I had killed the snake-haired women several times in different ways – at least one of which included hacking them to bits with Riptide – but they didn't have the manners to just _stay dead_. Was that too much to ask? They kept reforming, with increasing speed. The first time I killed them, I drowned them both with a well-timed wave that I summoned from the dry earth below me. It was fortunate they took so long to regenerate really – I was catatonic from exhaustion for almost three hours after pulling that stunt. A day and a half later, they caught up with me, tottering along in bowling shoes and holding festively colored pins to beat me down. When I kicked their butts, they regenerated and were on my tail in six hours; the most recent time I killed them, they regenerated in a few minutes.

This time, they'd brought actual swords. I wasn't liking my chances of survival this time. I was one tired ocean-kid that'd been living on gas station food for six weeks and "borrowing" warm clothes from unattended clotheslines. They were two unkillable snake-haired women with no souls and no sense of remorse, with a burning desire to hack me to pieces for revenge and then consume me into the primordial ooze of eternal darkness.

After a few miles of running, I was too exhausted to do anything more, and turned to make a stand. They were far enough behind, waddling along in their uncomfortable looking iron armor, that I had time to pick a strategically advantageous position on the hillside I'd been climbing all afternoon.

My gut was going haywire, and my instinct told me the place I needed to be was right below me. That couldn't be right though, unless Lupa's legion camp was underground, which I seriously doubted. I took the last few steps up the slope and gasped.

The golden gate bridge rose up and stretched out across San Francisco, the evening mist blurring it slightly and settling across the city. The ocean called me, rich winds kicking up six-foot waves and skiffs humming along the water. I would give anything to make it to the ocean and make a break for freedom, and completely ignore the instincts that had led me to a dead end. The cliff fell away from my feet for almost three hundred feet. It reminded me markedly of the cliff I had fallen down when I was chasing Lupa.

_Be prepared. Never charge into battle without a plan._

I turned and faced the gorgons. They had finally trotted to the cliff top, and were watching me hungrily, waiting for my first move. They were dressed in Roman legionnaire armor: loose white tunics, leather and metal chest armor, iron studded leather kilts, knee-high leather sandals, and thick goatskin shoulder armor that protected the back of their necks. Their gleaming golden swords shone in their hands. I hate to say it, but the two hideous snake-headed women looked pretty formidable.

I needed a plan. I tried to think fast, but my mind felt blank, sluggish and hopeless. The shield the shorter and more violent-looking gorgon carried on her left arm was looking like the best plan I had.

"Why couldn't you just let us beat you with bowling pins?" The taller, dumber-looking one asked resentfully. "It would have been more fun for everyone involved."

The shorter one hissed agreement. "Believe us; getting sliced to bits with a sword isn't fun." She glowered at me and eyed Riptide meaningfully. "And think of all the bowling puns we could've used as we killed you."

"I think you mean-" the tall Stupid Number One started to correct quietly. Stupid Number Two cut her off with a grunt and eye roll, inching towards me greedily.

"Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, ladies, but I would prefer not to die, regardless of how it happens," I said as politely as I could.

"Well… we don't _have_ to kill him, do we?" mulled Stupid One, mussing her golden brown snaky curls. "He's quite handsome."

"Of course we have to kill 'im, you idiot," answered Stupid Two, hefting her shield. "He's only handsome to you because he's Neptune's son. Remember what he did to Medusa? He'll do the same to us!"

"Whoa, whoa," I said, capping Riptide and holding up my hands in the nationally recognized symbol of peace. "I did what to Medusa? Because I seriously don't remember it."

"All the more reason to let him live," said Stupid Two, completely ignoring me. "He's handsome and he got that momma's girl out of the way for us. Now I can be mother's favorite!"

"I didn't do anything to Medusa!" I protested, though without any memories beyond two months ago, I couldn't be sure.

"You can't be mother's favorite, you dolt, I am!" howled Stupid Two, as if I hadn't said anything. She threw down her shield and dashed at her sister. They landed on the ground and started wrestling, ripping at each other's hissing hair.

I used the scene of sibling rivalry ("Get your filthy snakes off my face!"; "Mother always loved me best!"; "Mother said I was the ugliest!") as the opportune moment to make my get-away. A ran at them, causing them to pause in their fighting and howl in fear at the approaching demigod; I snatched up the thick iron shield that was larger than a car tire, and ran towards the cliff.

_I must be insane,_ I thought, and launched myself off the edge, planting my knees in the center of the concave side of the shield and waiting for the impact. _Lupa would be furious. This isn't a plan,_ I thought, just as my knees slammed into the shield and the shield connected with the slippery muddy slope. I sledded down the slope as best as I could, the iron digging into my hands, my knees grinding into the leather handle straps, the shield ruggedly hurtling down the slope, wind tearing into my eyes and throwing back my wavy black hair. Half blinded by fog, wind, and sunlight, I barely managed to steer the shield away from the worst of the rocks.

"Oh gods," I murmured, seeing the interstate at the bottom of the slope. Cars flew across the pavement and into a tunnel underneath the slope. I would fly out right into traffic. There was no way they would see me before they pulverized me into squishy ocean demigod road kill. Maybe if I died valiantly, rather than screaming as I hit the pavement, Neptune would feel mercy and turn me into a sea anemone or something. Then again, I hadn't ever even spoken to my father, so I doubted he would start communicating by granting me a divine life-saving favor. In a fit of panic, I flung myself from the shield and straight back onto the slope; this hastily made decision probably saved my life.

I watched as the iron disk flung itself from the edge of the hill on the top of the tunnel and crashed rather unpleasantly into the front trunk of a VW bug. The car went spinning into and out of traffic without running into anything else. A few mortals were scared out of their lanes by the revolving car, which was currently emitting dying shrieks louder than a giant's roar and bubbling with melted tar, but they drove past the wreckage of the car, seeming unfazed. I was pleased with this favorable turn of events until I saw the gorgons getting to their feet and starting down the cliff, screeching, "_Perseus Jackson! You will die!" _in their most snake-like voices.

At that point, I forgot my two-hour training in the woods completely and ran for my life. I hurtled down the slope as fast as I dared, my sneakers smearing the mud behind me and twisting my ankle. I didn't care. I was considering whether to make a break for the ocean or to stay and try to figure out what to do with a faulty internal GPS, when some forgotten synapse connected with my instincts again and the answer struck me.

_The tunnel._

I ran to the side of the interstate, stopped, and doubled-over, breathing hard. It wouldn't be difficult to find the camp. I would just follow Lupa's instructions and make it there in no time. But as I was about to march off into the half-light, an elderly woman called out to me.

I turned to see her standing, crooked and dilapidated, on the edge of the interstate, like she wanted to cross. And when I say 'her', I'm using this term in the very loosest sense. She was most likely the ugliest woman on earth – she would make the gorgons run for mama, her cold-blooded, wrinkled gaze was so unforgiving. Her skin sagged like grey putty on her bones; she dressed like a hippie, but had none of the youth necessary to pull off the look; her hair registered in acid-burned lumps on her otherwise bald and liver-spotted head; her feet were bare, and utterly hideous. They were scarred, blistered, burned, pus-oozing, broken, and painful-looking affairs barely attached to the end of her legs, necessitating that she lean heavily on a twisted old cane. Though I couldn't look at her mangled body without my eyes watering, I couldn't look away from her intense, rheumy eyes.

"I need help, little hero," she croaked, her voice sounding nearly as frail as her bones. "Carry me to the camp with you."

"Ma'am, I'm not sure – I mean – are you –" I faltered to a stop, nervously glancing at the ever-approaching gorgons, who were howling for my blood. I sufficed with an incredulous "What?"

"You heard me. I obviously cannot make it there on my own." The woman smirked toothlessly, her eyes glinting.

If I left her there, the gorgons would claim her. Then again, they might just pass her by, seeing as she was just a mortal. If I tried to carry her, there was very little chance either of us would make it to camp. I could rush out to the ocean, use its power, and crush the gorgons. But how much longer would they stay dead?

"By all means, little hero. Make your last stand in the ocean. But do you really want it to be that way?" Her beady little eyes glinted in her skull.

'_Little hero'_… Lupa had called me the same thing.

Suddenly, a horrible thought – yet completely reasonable, given the circumstances – occurred to me: the old woman was a goddess. Of what, there was no telling. Ugly old farts; possible. Hippies; likely. Impossible choices; definitely.

Without another word, I scooped up the woman and darted into traffic, cars swerving as best they could and the woman croaking, "Out of my way, mortals! Out of my way!" as she beat on the hoods of cars driving past with the cane. Somehow, probably by her divine power, we managed to not be crushed, and I jumped onto the sidewalk along the partition of the two directions of traffic.

I glanced back long enough to see the gorgons jumping across the roofs of cars to get nearer to us; then I sprinted down the sidewalk, the woman thrown over my shoulder in a haphazard fireman's lift. _"Never look back, Perseus," _she hissed in my ear, her tone sounding distinctly like that of Lupa's in the woods. _"Fear is for the weak."_

I grunted a sailor's reply, which may not have been too polite; then again, I was running for our lives, trying to locate a hidden legion camp in modern day San Francisco. Cut me some slack.

Unfortunately, the goddess didn't. She smacked me in the back of the head with something hard until I saw stars and stumbled. "Perseus, unless you want another taste of my gladius, you _will_ show respect," she hissed.

"Right, right," I mumbled deliriously. "Respect. Got it." How she had managed to hide a sword in her skimpy hippie clothes, I wasn't sure. But I didn't really want to know, either. I stopped to look around. My feet were pulling me left, towards the lanes of traffic and straight into the solid brick wall of the tunnel. Turns out my instincts were wrong anyway.

"Put me down," the goddess said, with as much dignity as she could manage. I did so, but it was more out of exhaustion than following the orders of the goddess. I turned towards the approaching gorgons and drew my pen, the tip expanding until it was three feet long, bronze, and perfectly balanced. I waited for the demons to approach, nervously setting my grip in the handle.

When the two snake-haired women jumped to the concrete in front of me, I fell into fighting mode automatically. We parried swipes and jabs, practically dancing with our swords along the sides of the interstate, the dimly lit tunnel reverberating the clashes of metal on metal like the clang of cymbals. I don't know what the mortals saw, but they were swerving two lanes wide around us on both sides of the partition, their brakes squealing and tires streaking the asphalt.

Just when I thought the situation couldn't get any worse, the mad griffon Simba I first encountered a few weeks ago finally caught up with me and swooped into the tunnel from my blind side. He swung around and clipped me on the back of the head with his wing as he let loose a fearsome battle-screech.

"Why do you want to kill me so bad?" bellowed in frustration. The gorgons' hair rose up and hissed at me, independent of their blindingly fast sword strikes.

"Because Gaea needs you dead!" the shorter one cackled.

I wasn't really paying attention. A crazy idea had just popped into my head. With the air of someone grasping at straws, I tracked the flight of the griffon, trying to predict when he would come within throwing distance of me. I had to keep the monsters distracted for this to work, so I asked "Gaea?"

"One of the few beings greater than the giants, or the titans, or the gods. She, along with Ouranos, created the world. She is Mother Earth, maker of everything! She opened the Doors of Death for us, so we can return again and again to try and kill you," the taller one replied.

"Which you aren't doing such a great job with, by the way," I commented off-handedly, my eyes still struggling to pick up the swooping shape of the griffon in the half-lit gloom. I parried both of their thrusts with smooth blocking swipe of Riptide. "What's the score now? Percy, 6, gorgons, 0?" Under my breath, I pleaded with the griffon, "Come on Simba, get down here."

There! The griffon swooped at me, like a bird of prey diving for a fish. I snatched rope from my gaping backpack and flung a length of it around the beast's neck. I let the bird-lion's lift pull me from the ground, up towards the ceiling of the tunnel. I dangled dangerously below the erratically flying monster while I struggled to pull myself up the rope. Just as he launched into a set of extremely unnecessary, irritated acrobatics, landing briefly on car tops and bucking like a wild bronco, I managed to twist onto his back. Squeezing my legs tight to hold on, I worked swiftly to fashion a makeshift harness from the rope. Knots I didn't know I could do formed in my fingers, deftly constructing a working harness with reins around Simba's chest, neck, and head.

Meanwhile, the gorgons stared up at me, frozen, with the most perplexed expressions I've ever seen. The whole time, I tried to calm the griffon by speaking soothing words to it. "Don't throw me off, Simba, or I'll cut off your tail… There we go; just let me tighten this knot and I won't have to feed you to a hydra… Good boy, try not to kill me or the cranky goddess, that's right," I murmured, though I confess, words like that wouldn't have made me feel better about having a ragged demigod on my back. It seemed to work, though, because he didn't buck me off immediately. I directed Simba down to the sidewalk and he obliged – bucking slightly, trying to throw me – but landed with an obedient jolt next to the old goddess.

If a toothless goddess can look surprised, this one did. Then, with a haughty and regal air, she transformed into a beautiful young woman wearing a glimmering white dress, with a cape of goatskin and a shining Imperial Gold gladius swinging on a wide leather belt hung jauntily around her waist. She accepted my hand as I offered it to her, and she stepped up to board the griffon's back. "Perseus Jackson," she said, with a somewhat approving tone, "I am Juno. You may yet be what the gods need. The path you seek is through that wall. Go through it with no fear of being harmed." She pointed at the spot I already knew to be right.

I hesitated. Was she totally nuts? She noticed my pause and snapped, "Go," her voice steely.

I would rather fight a dozen unkillable gorgons than disobey the order of a goddess. I yanked Simba's reins, and he pumped his wings, darting away from the gorgons who had gotten over their surprise and recently discovered they could actually move. He bucked hard against the prospect of slamming into a solid brick wall, but with the harness, he couldn't do much else. I resigned myself to the idea that, if I were going to crumple like a tin can against this wall, at least I would take a crazed griffon and irritating goddess with me. Granted, neither of them could die…

The brick wall phased out of existence just before we made impact, revealing an empty archway large enough for the subway to go through, filled with a blinding light. I squinted as we flew through, unable to see for the brightness. With a _woosh_, the brick wall reappeared behind us, and I heard the gorgons scream as they pounded their fists on the outside.

I stared numbly into the luminous area; despite physics and space-time laws, the archway opened into an open field the size of a state park. The sun shone down through a cloudy blue sky onto seemingly endless acres of rolling plains, woods, and a wind-stirred lake. In the center of it all stood an amazingly restored, full size replica of the Roman coliseum, the clatter of swords and cheering crowds echoing against the blood red fabric roof. I guided Simba into a trotting landing on the cobbled stone road leading to the coliseum, which threaded through the gate of a massive marble structure with heavy wooden doors. Stone torch braziers lined the path, lit despite the evening sun, leading up to the doors. To my left, hidden in the edge of the woods, stood a simple modern house in perfect shape. A familiar wolf faded in the shadows of the big house, watching me carefully.

I got off the griffon and blinked in the impossible sunlight, trying to re-dilate my eyes after the relative darkness of the tunnel. I turned and offered my hand to Juno, who accepted it with a haughty air and disembarked the griffon. Filled with a numb relief – _I'm finally safe _– I slipped the reins off Simba.

To my surprise, he didn't immediately take wing and disappear into the sky. His dark chocolate eyes stared at me as if waiting for direction.

"Well, go on then, you stupid bird," I muttered at him, and slapped his furry lion butt. With an indignant roar that shouldn't have been possible coming from a bird's mouth, he launched himself into the sky, flying past the coliseum and into the woods behind the house.

Now that I didn't have a bird-brained lion to worry about, I was able to look around; and with a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I realized that, surmounted upon the massive marble portcullis surrounding the archway and guarding the path into camp, were distinctly human forms, facing me in eerie stillness. I could feel their eyes focused coldly on me, which I only confirmed by squinting into light and seeing fifteen bows trained on my chest.

"Hey, hold on," I mediated, instantly on guard, flinging my hands up in surrender. "Let's not be hasty."

To my surprise, no one looked like they were having any hasty thoughts. The kids' eyes – ranging from six to twenty years old – were locked on me, but their attention was all directed to the girl in the tower of the portcullis, who was deciding her plan of action. These demigods had discipline beaten into them.

"Who are you?" the girl in command demanded coldly. I couldn't see her properly from my position on the ground, but she the measured tones in her voice made her sound about a hundred times more mature than me. "State your purpose."

I felt it best to provide prompt, truthful answers, given the arrows thirsting to pelt my chest. "Perseus Jackson, Son of Neptune," I called out clearly. I didn't mean for my voice to come out so loudly and proud, but there was no helping it now. My voice faded slightly as I stumbled for a good answer to her other question. "And… uh… At the Wolf House, Lupa ordered me to search for this camp. I came here in the hope of finding her and regaining some of my memories. Oh, and I'm trying not to die, I guess…"

I stood there, feeling awkward while the girl sized me up in the cold silence emanating from her guard of archers. I didn't expect her next question at all: "Why are you so old?"

I gazed, perplexed, at the shadow at the top of the tower, and called, "I'm only sixteen."

Dead silence.

"Who is your passenger?" demanded the girl in her over-controlled tones.

"I am Juno." The goddess spoke softly, stepping out from behind me and approaching the gated marble barrier purposefully, but the power she emanated amplified the sound until it was booming throatily upon everyone's ears. I could see a unanimous movement up on the wall on the edges of my vision, but I was staring at the goddess, transfixed. "This demigod has proven himself worthy. Allow him entry to your camp," she ordered. "Now rise, and return to your stations." This time I recognized the movement as fifty youths standing up and raising their heads after kneeling honorifically. I watched Juno approach me as the heavy wooden doors opened wide into the camp. Right when I thought she was going to say something deep, philosophical, and godly, she whispered in a dignified voice, "Train hard, little hero," and touched me once gently on the shoulder.

Then she vanished, her form bending the air and sunlight, erasing itself from existence with a slight _pop. _

Slightly miffed at this lack of advice, I marched into the camp. The cobblestoned path apparently connected all the buildings of the camp, and it continued on to the coliseum. In the grassy fields surrounding the path, four extremely athletic-looking demigods my age stared, leaning lazily on their swords as they analyzed me. I speculated from the intrigued expressions I received from three of them that they were impressed against their will that I had rode a griffon into camp and gotten the queen goddess to vouch for me.

"Back to your training," the tower girl ordered, as if nothing had happened. Immediately, the four demigods training on the open field picked up their swords and resumed their battle with ferocious intensity, hacking at each other with the intent to kill. It was disturbing, how viciously they attacked, even though they appeared to be only warming up for the event in the coliseum. They each had the slightly panicked look of students trying to cram right before a test.

I scanned the camp, not sure what to expect; the empty recesses of my memory banks tingled painfully, threatening to start another headache. It all looked so _familiar, _but I couldn't place it, like the perfect word that's on the tip of your tongue but simultaneously impossible to recall.

I took it all in hungrily: the thirty identical Roman buildings with gleaming white marble columns arranged in rigidly straight rows behind the coliseum, the showers situated in close proximity; the massive Pantheon-shaped building made of pure obsidian looming dark and impressive in the farthest reaches of the rolling, grassy plains; the windswept lake I had noticed on my right, an impressively wide archery range stretching the length of several football fields along one shore; the roars of threatening creatures in the woods crashing through the trees and echoing hauntingly in the air; and the constant noise of swords clashing. Probably because of the event in the arena, the entire facility – all the buildings, archery ranges, mountain faces (perfect for a deadly climb), and water sport areas – were completely deserted, the lone exceptions being the heavily manned portcullis and the ferocious match waging in the front practice field.

"Welcome, little hero," growled a low voice next to me. I jumped, whipping Riptide out of my pocket and drawing the point of my sword to Lupa's throat before I knew what I was doing. Heart beating wildly, but my expression not betraying the brief flash of fear I had felt, I realized Lupa could have dodged me if she'd wanted to. "Your reflexes are improving," she commented in a slow, clipped voice. "As is your trust of yourself. You have no further duties until dinner, so do whatever you wish. But don't be late when the bells chime," she threatened with a growl and raised lip. "Or you will suffer the consequences, your first day here or not."

Then I said something really articulate, along the lines of "Uh… okay."

Lupa snarled and downed me in a tackle, her teeth once again two inches from my throat. _"Respect the gods,"_ she rumbled. "You kneel and show discipline. Always. Remember it, Jackson." At this point, I think I had that rule figured out. Unless I wanted to be tackled by an angry wolf, beaten over the back of the head with a sword, or vaporized on the spot, I would be respectful. Got it. I was all over that rule.

"Understood, Lupa," I murmured humbly. The weight on my chest and the shadowy form over my eyes disappeared. I sighed weakly, wondering if the invincibility I had against monsters worked against temperamental goddesses too.

* * *

><p>I spent the rest of the waning afternoon floating on my back in the middle of the slimy lake. It wasn't exactly fun, what with the gunk I had to siphon off my dry clothing using jets of less-murky lake water, just to still be able to move. Yet it was better than going into the coliseum or wandering around the camp with the hot – was it even real? – sun blazing down. Besides, it cleared my mind, being in the water, though it wasn't as good as salt water. I could feel seawater calling me from miles away, but fresh water still had many of the same effects on me. I discovered quickly that mobility wasn't a problem in the lake – besides being a ridiculously strong swimmer, I discovered an ability that felt extremely familiar. I could direct the currents and waves to carry me in any direction I wanted, faster than most speed boats could go. I strained myself shooting across the entire lake as fast as I could, and amused myself with the bewildered expressions of the Nereids, who were apparently unaccustomed to speed boat children zooming through their reed and slime houses twenty feet underwater.<p>

I stopped immediately when I saw a deep red eyeball the size of a minivan glaring at me from beneath the murk.

Oh yeah, one more semi-important detail – I could _breathe underwater_. I discovered it when I came up from the bottom, spluttering from seeing the lake monster's massive eye, and accidentally inhaled a lungful of murky foulness. I coughed up the chunks of moss, but the water in my lungs didn't affect me at all. It was the weirdest sensation; my lungs refused the water and it ached slightly, but I still got oxygen from it. Even better, I didn't die.

For what seemed like ages, I laid unmoving in the water, my head submerged below my ears, to muffle to noise of the stadium. I watched the sun creep down the sky and wondered shortly how the entire camp was hidden under a mountain. But that question settled back in my mind quickly, and the thought that had been bothering me ever since I woke up in this mess of a life plagued me again.

_Annabeth_.

I knew she was someone extremely important to me, but honestly, it's hard to feel to forgiving with someone if they're constantly in your head, whispering _"You idiot, Seaweed Brain, what are you doing? Think of a plan before you go charging off on you high griffon" _and their face refuses to appear in your mind, no matter how many times you think their name. All I felt now was irritation that I didn't know who she was. Every time I thought about her, a tingle started in the small of my back so intense that I shivered, but I couldn't place the feeling. I'd been thinking about her every free moment I had for the past two months – that is, when I wasn't planning food scavenges or battling nutto regenerating beasts of the pit – and I started to get frustrated with how much time she spent in my head, but how little I knew about her. _Come on, Wise Girl, who are you…?_ I thought deeply.

I sat up in the water like I'd received an electric shock. I used to call her Wise Girl! What did that mean? Was she just a good friend, or had she been a demigod? And if she was, that meant her godly parent must have been…

Athena!

No wait… that was the Greek goddess. The Roman equivalent would be…Minerva?

I felt so excited at my empty brain having made a connection to my past, that I didn't notice at first that the water had solidified and was holding me up like a chair. I also didn't immediately realize that I had sat up abruptly to face three demigods pumping vigorously in a canoe. They stopped paddling but their momentum propelled them forward. The point of the canoe rammed into my chest, forcing I pained grunt from my mouth. I slid back ten feet across the top of the water, like I couldn't sink beneath it – though I knew it was just my willpower holding the waves solid enough to hold my weight. Still, it was a weird feeling.

"Watch where you're goin' there," I complained to the curiously blank-faced campers in the canoe, like _Yeah, I get rammed in the chest with canoes all the time. Don't mind me._

"You missed dinner. Lupa wants a word with you." The stony voice issued from the mouth of a twelve-year-old girl, her straight black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and her eyes boring into mine. If there ever was a child of Hades – no, Pluto – then this girl would be it. Her skin was a deeply tanned olive tone, she wore simple, ragged jeans and the uniform purple t-shirt, and her eyes were black. No iris at all, that I could see. She made me feel so uneasy, I didn't really register what she said, or even look at the other two kids in the boat.

"Sorry?" I asked, and knocked some water out of my ears.

The boy in the canoe – who looked to be fourteen – rolled his eyes and sighed, the first sign of any human habitation in these highly-trained soulless husks that I had seen all day. "Hic fatuus est,"* he complained in a caustic, lilting voice. It sounded like a poorly veiled insult; my suspicion was confirmed when the last camper, a beautiful girl of roughly nineteen, laughed openly and nodded, agreeing,

"Credo in harena morietur statim."** I couldn't even pronounce the words, let alone understand what either of them had said. They saw my confused looks and laughed more, the youngest girl joining in harshly. While I couldn't understand what they were saying, I figured they must have been talking in Latin, the language of the Roman Empire.

"Respice in faciem!" the boy guffawed. "Is vultus amo quia tacta Jovis!"***

The sky rumbled, and I recognized one word. The Lord of the Sky's name: Zeus, or Jupiter, sometimes known as Jove. No matter what they said, though, I knew it couldn't be complementary. I stood on the water, which held firm beneath me, and glared down at the laughing trio. They stopped abruptly, which I found quite satisfying, considering I was threatening them with a wave of repulsive lake water, rising impressively twenty feet high behind me. I forced the water into surrounding the tiny canoe and its inhabitants, and they stood and drew weapons, like they could fight off a tsunami with swords. Pleased to see I had their full attention, I decided to let it drop. Literally. I let the wall of water fall inward and collapse, splattering them with mud, debris, and water, but not drenching them.

"Do you wanna talk in English now?" I prompted them.

"You're the idiot who rode in on a griffon," spat the youngest girl coldly. Not exactly the warm and breezy "Hello!" I'd been going for, but it would have to work.

"Pleased to meet you too. What'd you say your name was?"

The little girl narrowed her eyes and growled, "Get to headquarters, you lazy weakling."

I frowned. I wanted to crush this little girl's over-inflated head, but then decided she might have a reason to be so cocky. Like, she was actually a good fighter and leader and demanded respect, and some other such nonsense. So, I satisfied myself with surfing to the shore on a board of glassy, hardened water, playfully capsizing the canoe as I brushed past. Tossing a glance over my shoulder, I saw the three demigods come up spluttering and cursing me in Latin. I realized that Annabeth wouldn't have minded – actually, I remembered that she had done it to me once, and offered her hand to get me out of the water… I remembered only the strangely painful stinging of the over-thick water, and her voice: _"You are such an idiot sometimes. Come on. Take my hand."_

This breakthrough in my own mind, though I couldn't figure out why it was important, made me smile. My stomach gave a lurch of happiness, as though it knew the partial memory was important. My head defied this feeling by rewarding me with a throbbing headache. In pain, I scrunched up my eyes and held my head in my hands as I surfed. Through my headache, I felt happy still: I had remembered something again, the second time in ten minutes; it only added to my happiness as I enjoyed the feel of the wind in my face, the sun on my skin, and the gentle rocking of the board over the windswept waves. When I got to the sandy shore next to the archery range, my headache had passed and I let the waterboard go, it splashing into the ground and dissolving.

I looked at the sky, which was turning pink and purple in the sunset, and noticed that more time had passed than I thought. My stomach was growling and the dinner pavilion next to the big house was empty, the kids having taken up stations in the fields, archery range, mountains, and the black Pantheon in the distance. _"Don't be late when the bells chime, or you will suffer the consequences, your first day here or not."_ Uh-oh. I probably didn't hear the bells from underwater.

As I made my way up to the big house, I wondered if I was immune to being shot in the chest the same way that monsters couldn't hurt me, because I was getting some mean stares from the kids at the shooting range. It didn't make me feel any better when a seven-year-old girl glared at me, then shot a perfect bullseye from a hundred yards. The arrow slammed into the target and buried itself in the tough surface all the way to the fletching.

The other campers, though they were focusing intently on their sword fighting and other activities, seemed to notice me without really looking. It was like they could sense that I was on my way to be punished and they were sending waves of dislike at me. I trudged across the fields on my own until I reached the house nestled in the edge of the woods. It was two stories, plain, with aluminum siding and a black roof. No one occupied the porch under the light of four burning torches, and the woods surrounding the house showed no signs of an angry wolf, so I climbed the creaky wooden steps and used the brass eagle-shaped doorknocker. The sound boomed through the house, and the door swung open.

I stepped over the threshold, peering into the darkness. No one.

"You're late." Lupa rounded a corner and faced me, the only sign of her body in the dark being the gleaming green eyes reflecting the light of the torches.

I knelt impulsively, bowing my head down. "Lupa," I muttered, because I felt like it was the respectful thing to do.

Lupa chuckled, though it sounded threatening in her wolf voice. "Well done, Jackson. Rise." I stood up to see her walking past me, off the porch, and into the woods. I followed the trail of freshly snapped branches she left behind her as she trotted too far ahead to see. I caught up with her when she stopped, standing in a small clearing and facing me. "You failed to come to dinner, as I ordered."

"I know, and I apologize," I said hurriedly, the words tumbling out of my mouth, but sounding strangely formal, like everyone else here. "I was… training… in the lake, and I must have been underwater when the bells chimed."

"You also disregarded the campers I sent to fetch you," she growled, her voice lowering to a dangerous level. "They had to get into a canoe in order to contact you. They thought you were sleeping, laying there on the water. You obviously weren't training at the time, and when they reached you, you threatened them with drowning for disturbing you. Unacceptable behavior."

"I…" I wanted to explain, but couldn't figure out a good way to say _I had a vision that a girl I can't remember pulled me out of a lava lake. _Instead, I decided to justify my angry behavior towards the campers, even though I knew it would sound whiny. "They provoked me."

"I doubt it. My soldiers have been trained not to act the way you do. They use their skills only when necessary or ordered to, not to intimidate or harm friends. You are disobedient, proud, arrogant, dangerous, and have no respect for rank and orders." She stalked towards me, the growl in her chest growing to a rumble, her teeth bared at me. I stepped backwards, trying hard not to trip over fallen logs and brush.

"You have disrespected my soldiers, my camp, and me. Normally, I would punish you by seriously wounding you and then assigning you to taming a rogue dragon without medical care first, but in your case…" she snarled, glaring at me. At least she'd stop advancing. Then it occurred to me. She couldn't give me the traditional punishment because…

"You can't hurt me, can you?" I asked. "I'm impervious to _all_ attacks, not just monsters."

That stopped her for some reason. "Indeed," she agreed, and then demanded, "Why do you not already know that?"

I didn't answer. "How did I become invincible?" I asked.

The wolf goddess sat down and stared at me, her anger temporarily evaporated.

"How?" I asked again, marching toward her.

"You bathed in the river Styx. It is extremely painful and destroys mortals, unless they preserve their souls and remain vulnerable in one spot on their body. You do not know your mortal point, do you?" she mused.

"No," I said, but I was thinking of Annabeth. She pulled me out of an extremely painful lake after my canoe capsized. Or was it a river that I had intentionally stepped into? "Like I said when you found me, I can't remember."

She stared at me for a little while, during which time my mind raced. "Fine, Jackson. You will receive no dinner or breakfast. For now, you are exempt from further punishment." Then I thought I heard her mutter, "My students will punish you as it is," but I couldn't be sure.

"Come. It's time for the nightly gathering in the arena."

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

***"This one's an idiot."**

****"He'll die in the arena immediately."**

*****"Look at his face! He looks like he was struck by Jupiter!**


	2. Two: Training Hard

**Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book **_**The Lost Hero**_** and the first published chapter of the actual **_**The Son of Neptune**_**; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Training Hard<strong>

The coliseum was just as grand on the inside as it appeared to be from the outside; it was the size of a small football stadium, which seemed like overkill, considering the entire camp of demigods fit into the one section below the Caesar's box. The red fabric retractable roof cast the entire arena in a lurid glow, magnified by the dying sun's vibrant rays. A bonfire roared in the center of the gladiator level of the arena, offset from center to be closer to the campers; with its additional orange-based blaze, the coliseum seemed like giant bowl of tomato soup.

The sand exuded warmth into the air. Lupa had ordered me to stand out of sight in one of the tunnels gladiators used to enter the arena, while she went to address the campers. I heard the stadium kneel as she entered, then move back to their seats as she said, "Rise."

She addressed them much more warmly than she had ever spoken to me, which was slightly disheartening. She said, "Before we proceed with our usual meeting, I wish to introduce a demigod who arrived here today. He is old for the standard entry age, but powerful, and I wish you all to bid him a warm welcome."

At this, there was the shuffling sound of a hundred bodies moving slightly, and whispers that sounded like the words "griffon", "praised by Juno", and "sixteen", murmured with excitement. Lupa quickly diffused the energy by saying,

"No. It is not Jason." Her words rang coldly in the arena, spoken flatly, with a metallic tinge of bitterness. I didn't know who Jason was, but it sounded like he was important to all of them. The shuffling in the stands stopped, and the campers settled into lethargic despondency.

I walked out into the arena, my baggy sweatpants, zip-up jacket, and unrecognizable orange t-shirt clashing badly with the crisp uniform of purple and jean facing me. Now that I could see without the tunnel obstructing my vision, I noticed the campers were in blocks of similar-looking teens. They seemed to be grouped by their godly parent: the gaggle of well-dressed and beautiful teens representing the Goddess of Love; the burly pack of scarred teens paying tribute to the God of War; a group of refined intellectuals filling the bottom rows. There were more, all of the distinct groups lined in square ranks in their seats. They all looked alike in one way, however: they were battle-worn and serious, and frowned upon seeing me. There were at least three hundred of them, sitting straight-backed and rigid on the stone benches of the coliseum, and none of them looked happy to see me.

A girl in full Roman armor, glistening with sweat and blood, her wavy brown hair hanging lank around her shoulders, was standing next to Lupa and watching me intently. Her eyes were fathomless. A traditional longbow was slung across her back, a quiver hung from her hip, a sword's scabbard hanging from the other side, and I could barely see the outline of a small dagger strapped to her right thigh. She looked like a walking artillery. I made my way to Lupa to stand with her and the girl in front of the bonfire as the goddess introduced me. "This is Perseus Jackson, Son of Neptune, sixteen years old." I raised my hand in friendly greeting, but no one returned it. I lowered it, feeling uneasy.

A boy in the ranks of Ares – Mars – stood and waited for permission to speak. Lupa granted it with a nod. "You said he's powerful, Lady Lupa, but he looks weaker than our youngest Apollo archer. Are you sure?"

Before Lupa could answer, I stepped forward, suddenly blazing with anger. I was sick of having to prove myself to these people, and if they called me insubordinate, so be it. "Looks are deceiving," I said tightly, my face locked in a deep frown. "You wanna test me?" Apparently my glare was sufficiently frightening, because the warrior sat down jerkily, his eyes wide. Lupa pulled me back with a claw, but I didn't look at her. I was considering if I could get away with hurling a wall of water at the Mars kid. I decided probably not, and stepped back slowly.

"That's enough, Jackson," she growled. "Go sit in the stands."

I did as she told me, sitting next to the Minerva kids, as far from the Mars group as I could get. Then I focused my attention on the arena, where the female warrior – who couldn't be younger than me by more than a month – stood, arms crossed loosely, next to Lupa. "Reyna Marcellus, today you have achieved 144th Rank Centurion. You surpass your old position of the Legate Triumvirate and earn your twelfth class bar." The girl – Reyna, I guess – proffered her left arm, where I saw a series of black tattoos that closely resembled a barcode. Lupa extended her nose and touched the mark, and with a flash, a new bar appeared at the top of the set; Reyna winced slightly, but was grinning too widely for it to matter. The entire crowd of demigods leapt to their feet and cheered so loudly, I thought my ears would explode – I stood too, not really sure what the big deal was, but clapped anyway. Reyna bowed twice playfully, just for show; the campers slowly quieted and returned to their seats. "You are now eligible for Captaincy of your Division." Reyna nodded and prepared to return to the stands.

"Just a moment," Lupa said warmly, smiling slightly. Reyna looked back, confused. "I have a task to assign to you, in honor of your success." Reyna nodded and moved back to the huge wolf. Lupa said clearly, "I wish for you to train Perseus. He will need your skill to… learn successfully." I had a feeling she was going to say _offset his failings_, but she changed her wording just before speaking. Reyna nodded again, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth, so I assume teaching the newbie how to fight isn't as big of an honor as she had expected to be assigned. She joined the Apollo group and sat, her friends leaning in to congratulate her and look at her tattoo.

"Moving on," Lupa said, "to our status updates and mission requests. The rogue dragon in the woods is getting out of hand again and needs to be subdued. Does anyone want to accept the challenge?"

Three people stood up promptly. All three adults loomed over their groups, imposing and self-assured, carrying a lot of muscle and multiple scars streaking their arms. They each rose from different sections, and wore a thick gold armband on their upper right bicep that I noticed no other campers had. It was that, more than anything else that tipped me off; these adults were the leaders of their sections.

"Captain David of the Mars Division, Captain Hyllon of Mercury, and Captain Alyssa of Vulcan. Who do you propose for the job?"

The first man looked at his division and smiled. "Bobby Hargrove can do the job on his own," he said with confidence. A short, dark brown haired boy grinned at his captain and nodded. "He would be eligible for officer advancement upon completing this job," the man said with a pleading look at the other captains. The captains nodded in understanding and took their seats.

"Bobby Hargrove, do you accept the task?" Lupa asked in the formal manner of someone completing a verbal contract.

"I do," the boy said, standing up, with the same tone in his voice.

"Good. Next, Captain Alyssa, I want a status report on the armory resupplying effort."

The woman stood up and brushed her short, ruggedly burned hair behind her ear. "The Titan War seriously depleted the armory. Fortunately, with our division's efforts, we've been able to almost completely refresh our weapon stock over the past several months. This past week alone, we forged fifty new swords, thirty lances, and seventy shields. Of each of those groups, half are morphing weapons, which we made with coin and bracelet forms. We need only another set of equal numbers to completely fill capacity." I realized morphing weapons were like Riptide – the way it transformed from a pen to a sword and back again, making it easier to carry a weapon through densely populated mortal areas. As to how to make one, I was clueless. Apparently, the Vulcan blacksmiths really knew what they were doing. "Unfortunately," the woman continued, "We're running low on raw materials. I ask permission now to send a mission to Mount Tam to mine more gold for the last set of weapons."

Lupa mulled it over and nodded. "Permission granted. Send your party in the morning, no more than five of your campers." Alyssa nodded and sat. "Venus Division, I want a status report on your attempts to re-establish contact with the gods."

Another woman, older than the other two captains, stood. She was beyond beautiful, even in the uniform purple and jean, gracefully ascending to her feet and staring confidently at the wolf goddess. She looked slightly exasperated, despite her composure. "We have tried every means necessary to establish communication with the gods, and we have tried them repeatedly over the last six weeks, as you have asked. We have received no word in reply. I believe that now is the time to take action, because it is clear our current methods are unsuccessful. I recognize the danger, but I suggest we send a party of my three strongest Charmspeakers to Mount Olympus itself." Something stirred in my memory. Mount Olympus… there was an uncomfortable shuffling of bodies at this, which I almost didn't register. Mount Olympus was in New York. I could feel it. There was something significant about it, and I thought hard, trying to break through my unwieldy brain and remember. It wasn't working. "I know New York is dangerous, but it may be the only way –"

"No," Lupa cut over her. "Permission denied, Cesara. Try with the resources you have, but we will not send a party to Olympus. Times are not yet desperate enough for such measures."

Confused by my thoughts and alarmed by my daring, I stood up to speak out of turn. The campers swiveled in their seats to lock their eyes on me. "Excuse me, but… why is Olympus dangerous?" For once, my words got a positive reaction, even though I hadn't expected them to. The campers all turned to Lupa, their eyes wide and questioning. Apparently nobody had ever asked this question and gotten a worthwhile answer.

Something in Lupa's eyes slammed shut. With a guarded expression, she said slowly, "It presents risks to Roman demigods beyond the level of an average mission; beyond, even, the level of my capabilities to combat. I hope none of you will ever have the misfortune of stumbling into the area, let alone foolishly planning to enter heedless of my warnings. Those who do not wish to die a painful death would do well to stay away from Manhattan." She delivered the words coldly, sleekly, and threatened the campers to contradict her.

Of course, I took the challenge.

"That's not true," I said loudly, and all eyes darted back to me. "I used to live there." It was the truth, but also the only thing I could remember. I had good feelings about Manhattan, not ominous fears of death. "Besides, if the gods live in New York on Mount Olympus, how is it possible that there are risks beyond your ability to deal with? You're a goddess."

"That's _enough_, Jackson," she barked. "Suffice it to say that the few memories you do have are faulty. Sit down."

That stung. I knew I was right and she knew I was right; but instead of conceding defeat, she was turning my amnesia into a way of discrediting my opinions. It wasn't like the campers would've believed me anyway, given how much they disliked me, but she still had to go and make them think I was an idiot deluded by faulty memories. Stunned and rejected, I collapsed back into my seat and refused to make eye contact.

"Mercury Division," she clipped callously. "Status update on your data collection."

Through my peripheral vision, I saw a tall, lean shape stand. A booming male voice announced, "In conjunction with the Minerva Division, we have gathered information worthy of note. In our mission to the underworld, we witnessed the open gates of Tartarus. The pit is allowing monsters to escape into our world without slowing them down at all. The result is obvious. Monsters are going to continue regenerating with increasing speed, to the point where they may regenerate before they have been fully destroyed. Monsters may become impossible to kill." He paused here to take a breath, and I could hear the campers around me shifting in their seats in concern. I was thinking about how the gorgons wouldn't die, and I agreed with the Captain's analysis. The monsters refused to die every time I killed them. It was nice to know why, even if it did sound disturbing. "We're not sure what caused a disruption powerful enough to open Tartarus, but it must have been something huge and powerful. A Minerva camper suggested the work of a Titan." He paused to allow an interjection. Lupa didn't answer, so he continued. "Even worse, two of my campers had a conflict with a well-known mortal. Agamemnon. He was the leader of the Grecian armies in the battle of Troy, and a notoriously skilled swordsman. He should be dead, but… well, we assume from the encounter that the Doors of Death are open, and the dead are flocking back to the world of the living. We destroyed the nearest entrance to the Underworld, but I don't know how long that will hold the dead back. They'll find another route up, I'm sure." The speaker sounded troubled. I thought back to the gorgons, and the Doors of Death being open…

I jumped to my feet, wordless with energy. Lupa glared at me, looking terrifying standing in front of the roaring blaze of the bonfire, but it didn't matter to me. "What is it _now,_ Jackson?" she demanded coldly.

I answered, "I know I'm bad at this formality stuff, but I just thought – on my way here, the gorgons who were chasing me said that – uh, Gaea, I think, had opened the Doors of Death, so they could return to fight demigods again and again until they destroyed us all." The expressions of irritation and anger at my outburst morphed into those of horror.

"Terra?" a girl from Minerva whispered thoughtfully. I sat down, to dodge the questioning that was sure to follow. "Is it possible?" she called to Lupa. Her voice was laced with fear.

Lupa looked grim. "Not just possible. Likely." She looked at us all. "It appears that the next Great Prophecy may be fulfilled sooner than we thought. For now, we will continue doing what we can. Minerva Division, I implore you to look into the rising of the giants and keep us posted weekly. Thank you, Perseus. And you, Hyllon. Apollo Division," she called into the darkening stadium.

Behind me, a girl of roughly eighteen stood to answer Lupa's call. She stood at barely five feet high and her frame was slightly rotund, but she her eyes shone with strength and vitality. "We've identified the beast in the mountain to be either an extraordinarily powerful chimera or the reincarnation of the Erymanthian boar. Unfortunately, because whatever-the-thing-is breathes fire, we can't really get close enough to tell. I request the aid of the Vulcan Division, if they have yet discovered the ability to withstand fire."

Alyssa stood, fifty feet away. "We haven't, but we're working on it. As soon as one of us figures out how to do it, I'll let you know. But I doubt we'll be able to help you before we finish restocking the armory anyway. It requires all of us working together to successfully temper the gold in the river of Jupiter."

"Thank you. Well then, other than that, I'm not sure how to proceed. Unless someone else has an immunity to fire?"

There was a short silence, and the girl sat.

"Gwyneth, abandon your attempts to subdue the beast for now. Train your campers and let your Division have a rest until we figure something else out," Lupa ordered. "I believe that we're done with reports. Now, back to training."

I glanced around at the campers, who were standing and drawing their weapons as they made their way to the practice fields. Reyna marched down from her position in a higher row and assessed me, her left hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "'Back to training'?" I asked her reluctantly. I was tired, cold, and hungry, not to mention the cool, inky darkness that had fallen during the meeting. The bonfire was extinguished by one of the Vulcan campers in passing. It would be impossible to see, let alone learn new fighting moves.

"Of course," she said, giving me a look like I claimed the Egyptian Gods were real or something. "We always train until midnight." She finished staring me up and down and seemed to decide I was a tough case. "You got steel?" she asked.

Following all the formality the campers used to address each other and Lupa, her slang unbalanced me. "Uh, yeah, actually." I pulled Riptide out of my pocket and handed it to her.

"A pen?" she asked, incredulous, and handed it back to me.

"Well, it's a morphing weapon, but it doesn't have as cool of a base shape as yours. It works, though," I said, feeling defensive. This pen had saved my life multiple times. I wasn't going to let some prissy 144th-Rank-Centurion-or-whatever diss it.

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "Let's go. That thing'll work for now."

We went out onto the practice fields with everybody else. I couldn't see well in the low light, because the moon and stars were obscured by the thick cloud cover that had been gradually developing all afternoon, so it was difficult to make out the shapes of three hundred demigods sparring loudly in the fields. I barely saw it when Reyna spun on me and tried to slice my head off. I drew Riptide and blocked her attack in one smooth – if slightly off guard – motion. My senses sharpened immediately (impending doom tends to do that to you) and I followed her strikes with parries and swift counterstrikes. It was easy at first, while she measured my abilities, and then became nearly impossible to stay up to speed. She increased the swiftness of her movements progressively, to the point where it was difficult to see anything but a mane of wavy brown hair and a flash of gold in the scattered moonlight.

I blocked the sound of the other sword lessons out, so I could focus better. The background noise faded until I could only hear the clash of our blades and our heavy breathing. I tried not to hurt her at first, but when she came close to decapitating me, I realized I didn't need to hold back. She shouted, "Hit me!" her voice sounding like marble dragging across a bed of slate, and for the first time, I actually tried to hurt her. Then it was more of a stalemate, sucking on both of our endurances. When we had been going for nearly twenty minutes, I decided enough was enough. I focused on the sound of lapping waves, the feel of a sea breeze, the taste of salty air; before long, water droplets whirled around my head and pelted Reyna in the face. She stumbled backwards, unable to see, and rubbed the water out of her eyes – but I kept throwing it her face. I didn't know where the water was coming from – it didn't really matter – but I drew more and more on my power, until I knocked Reyna down with the force of a wave I summoned from a creek I hadn't noticed earlier. I capped Riptide and offered her a hand, breathing hard but happy with my success. The creek babbled happily through the fields.

It was then that I noticed the silence wasn't just in my head. Coming out of my focus, I didn't hear the sounds of other campers sparring anymore. With my eyes adjusted to the light, I knew why.

They were all staring. Three fields of demigods were staring at me, openmouthed. I looked back at Reyna. She was on the ground, wiping water out of her eyes and rolling onto her side. It must have been a painful landing, with her bow strapped to her back. She sat up and shook her head to dry her drenched hair, accepted my open hand, and pulled herself to her feet. She glared at me. "When we spar, we're focusing on _swordsmanship_," she hissed. "Special powers are out-of-bounds. You cheated."

At this, campers all around us went back to their training, as if they were afraid to be seen eavesdropping. Reyna's eyes softened. "I admit, though, I've rarely seen anyone your age come in fresh and be that good of a swordsman. You're fighting style is weird – it's like you don't know what an effective defense is, but it's still really refined. That's an ancient style that nobody uses unless the last thing they want to see is the back of a monster's throat." She pursed her lips while she thought. "I'll start with teaching you more modern moves and build you a solid defense. Might even be able to perfect a few Class-A offensive moves, if we have the time. You'll be almost unbeatable in couple weeks."

"Thanks," I said, relieved to have finally earned praise for something.

"Take a break. Be ready to fight in ten minutes, or I'll stab you in the foot and we can see how good you are injured." Reyna laughed like it was a good joke; I chuckled under my breath as she walked to a water fountain, thinking of her expression when she would try and my skin would deflect it.

I lay down in the grass, staring up at the false sky. While I knew it couldn't be real, it was an unexpectedly accurate representation. The clouds had started to disperse, leaving patches of constellations to twinkle through the gaps; from what I could see, all the stars were in the proper positions, which would be a pretty difficult thing to arrange just for a false sky. I remembered the constellation myths, sifting through memories I didn't think I would have. Apparently, my amnesia didn't deem astronomy important enough to erase.

Andromeda, who was so vain, she claimed to be more beautiful than the Nereids. The Nereids had complained to Poseidon – _Neptune_, I corrected myself – who sent Cetus, the Kraken, to destroy her homeland. Her parents chained her to a chair in the surf and offered her as a sacrifice to Cetus to appease the god. My namesake had saved her by paralyzing Cetus with the head of Medusa, but the gods put a constellation of her chair in the sky to mock Andromeda for the rest of her life…

Corona Borealis, the crown of Ariadne, given to her by Hephaestus – _no,_ Vulcan – for her aid in guiding Theseus safely through the Labyrinth…

Hercules, the hero who, to atone for his sins, performed the famous twelve labors. When he finished his last labor, stealing a golden apple from the garden of the Hesperides and their many-headed dragon, the gods placed a starry likeness of the hero in the sky for his efforts…

Pegasus, the famous winged horse that sprung from Medusa's severed head…

All of the stories dredged up some kind of reaction in the deepest recesses of my mind, but I couldn't bring any of them to light. I knew there were stories behind the constellations that related to me directly, but every time I came close to remembering, the answer slipped away. The process of repeatedly failing to recall my own memories was exceedingly frustrating. Eventually I growled, threw my hands above me in the grass, and abandoned the attempt. I stared moodily at the clouds, shifting in the breeze of the night.

"What is it?" asked a voice right next to me. Startled, I jerked into a sitting position and peered through the darkness. It was Reyna. She was lying back in the grass and inspecting me with interest, like she was trying to read my mind.

"Nothing," I muttered, in a foul mood, and lay back against the rustling grass.

"Come on…" she chided me.

"It's just…" I found myself saying, "The constellations. The stories behind them remind me of my life before here, but I can't actually remember it. Bits and pieces come back to me at random, things that aren't really important. It's infuriating," I complained.

"So in the coliseum? You were telling the truth when you said you lived in New York," she said, deciding that my frustration validated my statement about living in the big apple. "I've never heard of that before. A demigod surviving there."

"Yeah," I murmured. For some reason, eating blue candy sounded like the best thing in the world right then, but I couldn't fathom why. That kind of thing was really getting on my nerves. "I wonder why Lupa doesn't want us to go to Mount Olympus. The real reason."

"Hmm," she hummed meditatively. Not exactly the answer I was looking for. I sighed and let it go. I had a funny feeling I would find out sooner than I thought.

"I was wondering…" I said, talking to the sky. "They never really said what the ranks are. What's so special about your tattoo and being a 144th Rank Centurion?"

"I forgot you didn't know," Reyna said, and sat up cross-legged. I followed suit to hear her better over the clash of swords. "Well, someone has to explain it to you." She showed me the interior of her left wrist, where twelve blackened stripes notched her arm, with the letters SPQR at the bottom, and a bow and arrow surrounded by a laurel wreath. "See each of these stripes?" she asked, pointing. "These each stand for the class levels that I've earned. To earn a class, you have to perform twelve grueling tasks. If you perform them all successfully and with only minor injuries, you are awarded that class level and branded with a bar to signify your status. The whole thing is because the Roman Empire has always taken the twelve labors of Hercules really seriously; the idea is that if you can perform twelve labors similar in difficulty to those that Hercules performed, then you've proved your passion, skill and readiness to move up a class and have more people under your command."

"Then why are you called a 144th Rank Centurion, and not a 12th Class Centurion?" I asked, confused.

"The ranks are just another way of saying how many individual labors you performed. As you have to do twelve per class and I've completed all twelve classes…" she drifted off.

"Twelve times twelve is 144. Yeah, I know," I snorted. "So it's just because it sounds more impressive?"

"Yeah," she sighed, sounding tired. "Well anyway, when you get your first tattoo, you're also branded with the letters SPQR, standing for the motto of the Roman Empire, _Senatus Populusque Romanus_, and the symbol of your godly parent. That's mine, there," she said, pointing unnecessarily at the laurel and bow. "So that's what I was doing today in the arena, today. Earning my final class level. Everybody has to watch, or otherwise it isn't valid. We can't have people running off and saying they slew a dragon without some kind of verification."

"What's a centurion?" I asked. I didn't want to sound ignorant, but unfortunately, I was. I had to find out sometime or another.

"It's your officer position in the army. Usually it's not important until you get to be at least a Duplicarius. That's Latin for 'Major' in case you're wondering," she explained. "Going from lowest to highest rank from there, its Duplicarius, Centurion, Praetor, Tribune, and our General, Lupa," Reyna said happily. "To move up past Duplicarius, you have to be of the 144th Rank. Then you have to prove your worth as a leader, either by performing exceedingly well in the arena or completing a difficult mission." She tacked on as an afterthought, "I moved up an officer position today, not just in my twelve class levels." She said up straighter with pride. Against my will, I was impressed.

"Nice," I said. "You must've done really well today then. You should've had a party or something." At this, Reyna's smiled slipped and turned into a slight frown. She lay back in the grass, and I followed suit. Apparently, I'd struck a nerve. We stared at the sky in silence for a few minutes, listening to the other kids train in the cool, breezy darkness.

"I wish the people here we're more like you and Jason."

I glanced over at her through the grass, startled. "Why?" _And would someone tell me who Jason is?_ I thought.

"You're so laidback. Everyone here is constantly on their toes, following orders, orders, orders. They never think about what they're doing or act based on what they feel. It's absurd," she sighed. "Jason was all about loyalty to his friends. Now everyone else is figuring that out, because he's disappeared." We laid there for a moment, staring at the stars. "But right now, I'm your weapons instructor. My job," she regained her steely tone, "is to train you enough to get your first class. From then on, you're on your own. Now get up off your sorry butt and let's get back to training."

After sitting for so long, I was even more tired and hopelessly stiff. I stretched to my feet with a groan, silently cursing my thoughts of Annabeth for making me miss dinner, and turned to face my teacher. "Draw your sword," she ordered, all the softness in her eyes gone. "Let's start with basic defense…" Reyna demonstrated a complex series of movements that kept most of her more vulnerable spots protected, then shifted the power of her opponents against them, turning defense into offense. I attempted to duplicate the sequence, but I got lost and generally stumbled around like an idiot. It took another hour for me to perform it to her satisfaction, and then she started to attack me with basic thrusts so I could test out the move in combat. I felt like I was just demonstrating my amazing ability to look like a fool, rather than any command over the sword, but after another half hour, the stopped and declared the move a success.

"What?" I panted. "You almost killed me about ten times."

"But I didn't. You blocked the strikes," she insisted. "You'll have it down by the end of tomorrow, I swear." I almost cried. Just thinking about what training sessions tomorrow would include made me wish fervently that I had let the gorgons beat me with festive bowling pins. "Before lights out, how about a nice jog around campus?" she said, sounding cheerful.

_She's insane. She _must_ be insane_, I thought numbly. But before I knew what was happening, she snapped a vice grip around my wrist and started jogging in the direction of the obsidian Pantheon in the distance.

* * *

><p>Every day, I woke up in a cabin full of campers of my same rank at six in the morning, just when the sun was yawning its pink and orange hues across the sky. We went for a jog around campus, the higher-ranking officers calling out encouragement and orders to hurry up. Then, an hour later, we sat down for a breakfast of emmer flatbread, scrambled eggs, and grapes that were grown on campus. From eight in the morning to one in the afternoon, we trained extensively in every possible way – I climbed the rumbling mountain more times than I could count, Reyna ordering me rather unhelpfully to 'climb or die'; I shot pathetically at archery, while little miss Apollo shot accurately from two hundred yards and constantly nagged at me to correct my form; I left the land loving campers in the dust in water sports, where I ignored the flatbed canoes and worked on surfing on vitreous sheets of lake water; and of course, sword fighting. Swordsmanship was the one required skill for all campers, regardless of their talents. After lunches that generally consisted of pulled boar meat and sliced lamb, emmer bread, milk, and honey, we spent the afternoon practicing skills that I deemed pretty much pointless: tree climbing, zip lining, tracking, survival skills, and <em>especially <em>basic Roman history. That stuff could bore even a god to death. Then we ate some kind of zesty pasta with vegetables and fruit, and spent the evening at the camp meeting and further skills training. We collapsed in the barracks at almost one in the morning. It was tiring, tedious, and intense.

Class challenge days were the only exceptions to the schedule. When a camper informed Lupa of their intent to try to move up a class, the entire camp got to spend the next afternoon in the coliseum spectating. The challengers had to battle their way past massive beasts from the woods and outwit monsters Lupa gathered from outside the camp's protective boundaries. I noted that very few challengers actually managed to succeed in their task, generally ending up in the infirmary with serious injuries for a few days. I gained new respect for Reyna's achievement on my first day, but also became more nervous for the day I would have to challenge my class. _Would they throw me out if I was twenty years old and still didn't have my first tattoo? _I wondered, seriously considering not even trying for first class.

This idea only became stronger in my head over the next few days: one of the first class challenges I saw was of an eight-year-old Vulcan boy trying for his second class bar. He creamed his first six challenges; building nifty little automatons out of Imperial Gold sheet metal he kept in a satchel, and had them attack the beasts or retrieve the goal object while he watched from a safe distance. On his seventh, he faced a massive Sicilian scorpion, which was the size of a few semi-trucks put together, about as fast, and had an exoskeleton as hard as steel. He didn't have time to make anything worthwhile before the scorpion stabbed him in the shoulder with its tail, and the boy went down. Lupa had to intervene before the scorpion made bug-food out of the little writhing body in the dirt.

We went back to training early that day.

Once, I tried to lighten the monotony of camp by telling jokes and barely pulling off a few awesome surfing tricks in the lake, but I was only rewarded with blank stares and a whack upside the head with the butt of a gladius. After that, the other campers came to a consensus that it was safest to not even come near me with a ten-foot pole, just in case having a personality was a disease communicable by close contact.

I resolved myself to enjoying the two highlights of my days: surfing and sword fighting; one activity that came as naturally as breathing and felt just as necessary, the other that I spent time learning something new every day. Reyna was right; I learned to be able to do each sequence in my sleep. Even with the tight schedule, I managed to pick up a new skill every day. After two weeks, she announced that my defensive patterns could keep a faun away from a dryad, and we moved on to practicing offensive moves of increasing difficulty. I learned to slide my sword into a well-defended chink in my opponents armor in between their shoulder blades, to circle my opponent to get behind them, to disarm them with a wrist flick, to dig my the tip of my sword into the dirt and toss the dust into my opponents' eyes (my eyes stung for hours after that lesson), and to vault off my opponents legs to flip over them and behead them from behind. When I got tired during training, she flicked her sword at my feet and chanted mercilessly, "Be alert. Be swift. Be strong."

In my third week, after another meal of tomato-slathered cheesy pasta, Reyna and I went straight to the practice fields. "Ready for something new?" she teased me.

"You know it," I said, practically dancing as I bounced on the balls of my feet and set my grip into the hilt of Riptide.

"Then put away your sword," she said.

Baffled, I felt my hands cap Riptide of their own accord. I was so used to following her orders, that I did it almost unconsciously. I waited for her to say something – like, _Now I'm going to teach you to wrestle a heavily armed opponent to the ground without using any weapons or special abilities; should be fun!_, but she didn't say anything. She stuck out her branded arm and smiled.

I accepted her hand and shook it, more than a little confused. _First lesson, Percy, is to grab their wrist during a hand shake, then twist their arm behind their neck and – _

"Congrats," she said. "There aren't any more moves for me to teach you."

"What?" I said stupidly, still imagining the new move. _– kick their legs out using the pressure point behind their knees, then put your foot in their back and force them down, like this – _

"You have all the skills necessary to earn your first class. Actually, if you wanted, you could probably become at least a fifth class on your first try in the arena. You have all the skills, and you're much more imaginative than most of us. You've created new moves that I've never seen before and used them on me, though I don't think you noticed at the time," she said approvingly.

"So what do I do now? Do you stop sparring with me?" I felt disappointed. Reyna made the days at camp fun. Well, she made them better than having your eyeballs clawed out by a dragon, anyway.

"Far from it," she said, and with speed that would've made Lupa proud, darted forward with her sword drawn. I drew Riptide and launched into one of my defense sequences almost without recognizing it, pushing her back. "Now," Reyna said, when our blades met and we were staring at each other in a stalemate, "We start to use our special abilities." She spun away from me and unleashed a series of powerful offensive attacks she had never used before, but I was able to hold her off using almost every skill she had taught me.

Unbelievably, Reyna's attacks picked up accuracy and speed. I heard her singing something, but I couldn't understand the lyrics – the words were in Latin – and her voice adopted an ethereal quality, like a naiad speaking in your mind. As her voice gained strength and volume, so too did the brunt force and velocity of her strikes. Before long, she was practically dancing circles around me, making thrusts that I barely managed to hold at bay, jerkily slamming Riptide into place just before she could seriously wound me.

I realized in a stunned heartbeat what she was doing. Apollo – god of music, poetry, and archery, an accuracy based sport. I had to stop the song if I wanted to have any chance of beating her.

Much like the first time I had sparred with Reyna, I forced bullets of water to rise from the creek and pelt her in the face. I hoped that if her mouth was full of water, she would splutter and stumble in her song. But with speed surpassing human possibility, she dodged the projectiles, getting closer and closer to slicing my skin with each second.

_No,_ I thought forcefully. _I won't lose_. I backed up slowly but surely, barely sliding my sword into position to rake away hers while I moved, inching towards the creek that twisted through the practice fields. My sneakers connected with the pebbly bank. I ordered the stones and sand to wrap around my feet as an anchor; I willed the creek to rise in a surge, and it obeyed, rearing ten feet in the air like a snake about to strike. Just as Reyna took a breath to continue the lyrics, a manic fire burning in her eyes, I forced the wall of water forward, sweeping over both of us. With my feet grounded firmly in the bank, it passed harmlessly over me, but it knocked Reyna five feet away from me and onto her back. She didn't move.

"Reyna?" I asked when she didn't stir for a few seconds. I pulled my feet free of the rocks and ran to her, dropping Riptide in the grass. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't breathing. I knelt next to her and reached my hand forward to find a pulse – but her eyes flicked open, the fire still dancing in them, and whipped a dagger into a deadly position against my chest.

Momentum carried me forward slightly, my chest scraping against the dagger and – being invincible – pushing it aside. I was left unharmed, but my new purple shirt had a huge gash across when my heart would be. Reyna stared up at me, her eyes wide and cold, and dropped the dagger to the ground, where it clattered against a few pebbles from the creek.

"You're still alive," she said, dumbstruck.

"So are you," I said with some relief, having thought I killed her a few moments ago.

"But – but – you're not even bleeding," she said, a whine creeping into her voice. "How is that possible?" I offered her a hand and she accepted it, climbing to her feet.

"I bathed in the river Styx and took on the curse of Achilles," I explained uncomfortably, "but I don't really remember it." Which was a lie, of course. It was actually my clearest memory, yet simultaneously the most bizarre. I'm pretty sure no one would take me seriously if I told them what I remembered: a Goth kid with a black sword convinced me to go into the most polluted river I'd ever seen; I had taken one step, then fallen in face first because the water felt like acid; I couldn't breathe underwater, which was normally my most impressive skill; then Annabeth (who I had recalled to be a steely grey-eyed girl with an athletic tan and curly blonde hair) had the decency to pull me out, and immediately disappeared with a flash of light as I fell face flat on the bank. I felt like a maniac every time the vision of that popped into my head, which was actually fairly often. In all honesty, I was still wondering why I had followed the Goth kid's advice and done it.

Reyna had decided the best way to react to this news was to glare at me and cross her arms. Great. "And you felt it best to keep this a secret because…?" she drifted off, threateningly.

"It's not the sort of thing you advertize," I answered in a low voice. "People will try to figure out your mortal point."

"Do _you_ even know where it is?" she demanded, familiar with my amnesia.

"Yeah," I lied with as much conviction as I could muster. If I said no, she would try to help me find it, which would defeat the point; it had to be a secret from everyone for my defense to stay as effective as possible. And besides, I did have some idea: any time I thought about Annabeth or the Styx, a tingle started in the base of my spine and worked its way up to my neck. I figured that it had to be on my back then, and took meticulous care to defend behind me when fighting. I hoped my pre-amnesia self had the good sense to put it somewhere on my back that was well protected, not, say, right at the edge of my armor or something.

"Uh huh," said Reyna, disbelieving, but didn't press the subject. Then her eyes gleamed.

"Why are you smiling like that?" I asked wearily, backing towards Riptide.

"Because now that I know I can't kill you, I can work you ten times harder," she said with a growing smirk.

* * *

><p>With Reyna harassing me to sign up for a class challenge, I didn't have much choice but to go to Lupa before bed that night. I walked hesitantly onto the porch of headquarters and knocked softly with the bronze eagle. The door swung open, and this time, the lights were all on, warming the interior of the foyer with a yellow glow that burned my eyes after training in the dark. There wasn't any furniture, just weapons, severed animal heads, and other demigod trophies mounted on the beige walls. Lupa sat expectantly in the room, her strange eyes boring into me.<p>

"Jackson," she greeted with a nod. I knelt quickly until she said, "Rise."

"Lady Lupa," I said slowly, unsettled by her presence. When she was fifty feet away and I had a herd of demigods in front of me, I was okay, but being in close proximity with such an unpredictable being with a façade of innocence unnerved me. I noticed even 144th Rank campers shifted their weight uncomfortably around her and fidgeted slightly. "I want to…" I swallowed and tried to speak with more confidence. "I want to challenge for my first class."

Lupa nodded like this didn't surprise her. "I already have your trials ready. Go to the armory after lunch tomorrow, and Alyssa will suit you up with proper armor. And get you a new camp shirt," she said, eyeing the wide, bloodless gash.

I nodded, muttered "thank you" and hurried to my bunk in the barracks as fast as I could. When I got to the small, four-person marble cabin labeled with the Roman numeral XIX, I slipped inside, avoided the acidic gaze of my cabin mates, and fell into my cot. I feigned sleep for half an hour, thinking about what horrors would await me in the arena tomorrow and waiting for the other three demigods to fall asleep. When their breathing was deep, I rolled over and stared at the peaked marble roof. I sighed, wishing the stone ceiling would fall and crush me to save some kind of giant-fire-breathing-fish-with-pterodactyl-wings the bother of killing me tomorrow.

Despite everything, my exhaustion won out. I drifted off into sleep, but was immediately disturbed by a dream.

It started really strange. A faun was standing right in front of me, waving vigorously, dancing on his cloven hooves, making a racket with reed pipes, and yelling my name. The sounds were really muted, like he was calling to me from miles away, even though he was standing right in front of me. He tried to say something else, but I couldn't understand, so I just stood there, unmoving, until the dream faded away.

Then I was running along an underground corridor, chasing after Annabeth. The walls were becoming unbearably hot, glowing an eerie red in the darkness. We both stopped when we reached an opening that led into a massive cavern. Instead of a stone floor, the walls fell away a hundred feet to a sluggishly bubbling lava lake. On the level of the corridor, metal catwalks lined the walls and extended like a spider web into the center, where shadowy beings the size of houses lumbered around a block of steel. Before I could say anything – I had a horrible feeling about the place – Annabeth put on a hat and disappeared.

Worried but slow moving in my dream state, I circled the cavern on the catwalks until I came to a cart. The next few moments were a blur, filled with barking dogs, crashing metal, and running footsteps clattering loudly on the catwalk. The next thing I knew, I was sprinting back towards the stone corridor, a hundred terrifying beings on my tail that I didn't dare to look at, and Riptide in my hand. Suddenly, Annabeth appeared in front of me, said, _"Be careful, Seaweed Brain," _kissed me, and vanished again. I was furious with her for leaving me in this pinch alone, but also happy that she would make it out alive.

I ran to the center of the catwalk, the dream blurring in and out of focus, until I was surrounded by the beasts working with the anvil. The smaller creatures chasing me caught up and circled around, blocking the entrances. _Telekhines,_ I remembered they were called, looking at their dog-like faces, their grey, slippery skin, and their seal flippers. Their skin shone in the lava-lit cavern, their faces glowing with malicious glee.

The dream suddenly became crystal clear; to my horror, the telekhines started chucking globs of molten rock at me. I couldn't dodge all of them, and the glowing red lumps latched onto my skin like leeches. I freaked out, trying to brush them off, but they stuck to me with a vengeance. At first, they were only warm, but then they lit on fire and started to genuinely burn me. I crumpled to the floor, screaming, burning – dying. _"Your father's nature protects you. Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, demigod. Not impossible," _barked the gravelly voice of one.

I did the only thing I knew how to do. I called on the ocean, even though there wasn't any trace of running water nearby, and prayed to my father. _The water is within me,_ I thought, just as an explosion of superheated steam erupted into the air, extinguishing the flames ripping across my chest and vaulting me into the air. Kicked higher by another blast as the water met with the lava below, I flew out of the top of the cavern, and fell, fell fast, plummeting towards the earth.

Just before I slammed into the ground a thousand feet below, I woke up, gasping for air. It was pre-dawn, the sky still dark and starry outside the doorway of the cabin. Restless and concerned about my dream, I threw my light covers off me and went out into the chilly, dew-coated morning. I leaned against the outside of XIX, breathing hard and staring up at the stars, my head thrown back against the building.

It had seemed so _real_. More like – like – well, a memory. When Annabeth and the monsters had spoken to me, it had struck a chord, resonating deeper than any other dream I'd ever had. My heart was still pumping hard, my fingers slick with sweat. My skin was tingling with pins and needles, and I shivered.

My skin still felt like it was burning.


	3. Three: Python

**Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book **_**The Lost Hero**_** and the first published chapter of the actual **_**The Son of Neptune**_**; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: Python<strong>

With the back of my neck cooling against the cabin and my breathing and heart rate slowly falling, I stared up at the stars. They were glowing bright tonight, with no clouds to hide them, and I could pick out more constellations than usual against the inky backdrop. Capricorn, Sagittarius, Aries, Taurus, Orion, and – I fumbled to a stop. I stared blankly at the sky for a minute, trying to dredge up the name of the girl with long hair running across the sky, bow in hand…

Zoë the Huntress.

My head ached like someone was bludgeoning me with the bronze club of the Furies. Before I could remember anything about her though, a voice called out to me down the aisle.

"Hey! Percy, right?" The boy was younger than me, short, and looked vaguely familiar. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked in a friendly whisper. He moved like a gazelle, bouncing lightly on each step and moving quickly. There were a few ropes, carabiners, and a pair of climbing shoes in his hands.

I shook my head, trying to remember his name.

"I'm Bobby," he said, seeing my expression in the strained dimness of pre-dawn. "I guess you wouldn't remember me. We've never actually met." He offered a hand and I shook it, startled by his outgoing personality. "Wanna climb with me? Right now is the best time for it. The mountain shakes the least and there's nobody clogging the cliff face."

I nodded, taken by his openness. "All right, yeah," I said. We hiked up to the foothills of the mountain and strapped on harnesses, talking affably the whole way. Bobby was a nice kid; energetic, easy to please, and non-judgmental. When I told him about my amnesia, he seemed puzzled.

"Wait, so you just woke up, and you didn't remember anything _at all_?" He frowned, deep in thought. "Well, I'd say that someone had an outside hand in that. Generally amnesia isn't so complete, and it progressively gets worse, not the other way around."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I had never thought that someone else could get in my head and erase my memory banks. "That's kind of weird."

"Well, it could be the effects of a few things. First, it could be that some minor god played a trick on you. There's been a few cases of that over the years. They wipe the memories of some mortal and land them at the Wolf House for Lupa to find."

"But I'm not a mortal," I said, pointing out the obvious. We hitched our harnesses to the automatic belay system and started up the cliff.

"And lucky you aren't," Bobby said. "You'd be dog food. Anyway, it's also possible that you fell in the river Lethe. It's name means Oblivion, and it's supposed to wipe the minds of the dead as they enter the Underworld."

"Well, I went to the Underworld once and fell in a river, but it wasn't the Lethe," I said with a touch of humor. Bobby glanced at me quizzically but didn't reply.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be it anyway, because the Lethe doesn't _ever _let you have your memories back." He stopped to jam his thin climbing shoe in a crevice and push himself higher. "The only other thing I can think of is the Titaness Mnemosyne, Memory incarnate. But generally she minds her own business and doesn't bother demigods just for kicks. Plus, we crushed her in the last war and buried her under Mount Saint Helens, where Typhon used to sleep." At half-way up the mountainside, he told me over the rumbling of the mountain, "I mean, I guess some god could've stolen your memories, but that doesn't really make sense. There couldn't be a good reason for a god to do that, and without your memories, there's no way to tell anyway. I think you're just gonna have to ride this one out."

I shrugged and said, "Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice."

We climbed to the top, hit the finish bells, and belayed to the bottom. After a few more climbs, the sun peaked over the horizon and outshone the stars. With the new light, I was able to see my hand and footholds better, so I slipped less often. Yet every time the mountain shook with a rumbling growl deep inside, I stopped moving and had to cling to the cliff face to avoid falling. The noise and shaking reminded me of my first night at camp: _something_ was in there, and it wasn't the sort of creature that would have a tea party with you. Unless, of course, you agreed to be the crumpets, and it got to charbroil you to perfection.

We hiked through the foothills to the main portion of camp a little later, sweaty but awake, and talking amiably. When I told Bobby about my challenge that afternoon, my stomach tying itself in knots as I spoke, he listened with a spark in his eye. We were just about to enter camp when he held me back in the woods of the foothills. He learned toward me and said quietly, "Listen, I don't know what you'll have to face today. But if they put a dragon in the arena with you…" He paused to think of the right phrasing. "Just promise me you won't look at its head. It'll read your mind if you make eye contact, and it'll do everything in its power to riddle and confuse you. That's how they get their prey to stop moving long enough to eat it." His expression was grim. He pulled up the sleeve of his purple shirt and bared a thick, fresh looking scar on his shoulder. "When I fought the dragon in the woods, it got me listening long enough to give me this. Just don't look at its face. Okay?"

I recognized Bobby now – he was the kid who had agreed to subdue the dragon on my first day. Secretly, I wanted to ask, _How did you kill the dragon?_ But instead, I said, "Sure. By the way, did you get to move up an officer placement?"

He grimaced. "No. I thought I was pretty lucky to have escaped alive, let alone with just one wound, but the Captains didn't seem to think that coming back with a dead dragon and a shoulder in ribbons was good enough."

"Oh. That sucks," I said sympathetically.

He laughed derisively, which was a strange sound coming from such a young, kind kid. "Thanks. You're the only one who seems to think so. Everybody else thinks that I should've been demoted."

"Yeah, well, they're all jerks," I said, gesturing widely at the whole camp. "See you later."

I stepped away, but Bobby caught my arm. "Good luck in the coliseum today, man. And seriously. Thanks," he said, with genuine gratitude. He let me go with a nod and I made for the lake.

The lake was my cool haven for the rest of the morning. I blatantly ignored Reyna's insistence from the shore that I should spar with her or shoot some archery. The only shooting I did was through the water; high-speed, current-projected swimming, weaving through naiad reed huts, mossy deep water rocks, and bubbly water. I explored an underwater cave for a while, somehow able to see in the murk.

When I emerged at noon, I realized I hadn't eaten any breakfast. My stomach was growling fiercely, loud enough that the archers looked around for a wild animal to chase when I passed them. A very disgruntled Reyna accompanied me to the dining pavilion, where we devoured our roast lamb like rabid wolves. When I finished my last gulp of milk with honey, I swung off the stone bench with a sinking sensation in my stomach that had nothing to do with the heavy meal I'd just eaten. "See you in the arena," I risked saying. My voice was rusty from breathing water and not speaking all morning.

She smiled at me, seeming to know what I was thinking. "You'll do fine. You're a lot stronger than you think," she said.

"Who said otherwise?" I retorted quickly, pretending to be hurt.

Inwardly, I was glad for the encouragement. I walked out to the armory with the sinking in my stomach intensifying. By the time I got there, it felt like I was walking with nine-times gravity or something, my spirits were so low. Captain Alyssa narrowed her eyes at me critically, weighing me up as I approached the massive, obsidian doors. Just as I thought she was going to say something severe like, "Stand up straight," or "Stop moping around, you sack of lard," she smiled faintly and raised her eyebrows at me.

"Feeling nervous? That's okay, everybody does beforehand. I think you're a size eight." She walked into the building, filing through the aisles, searching for the correct row. Inside, towering racks of scaled torso armor, iron studded leather strap kilts, and knee-high leather sandals filled the interior of the first room. The vaulted ceiling made possible by the golden gnomon shape of the roof allowed for the racks to be higher than anyone could reach easily. While I wondered how they got armor down from the topmost tiers, Alyssa wandered off to a row a twenty feet away. I hurried to catch up and arrived in the aisle just as she jerked a set of torso armor off the rack. She fitted it on me without a word, the armor clanking loudly and resting painfully against the beaded necklace on my chest. Alyssa pulled a kilt from a stack and wordlessly wrapped it around my waist. It was uncomfortably tight until she adjusted it, and then it still felt awkward because I was still wearing jeans underneath.

Within a few minutes, she had outfitted me with all the essentials, including arm guards, sandals, an extra dagger, a white tunic, and a shield, because I said I didn't have one. She ordered me into a dressing room, which reminded me rather bizarrely of the one at Goodwill, and I changed into the armor. When I was fully converted, and feeling completely ridiculous in the getup, I pocketed Riptide in a nifty strap on the side of my kilt. I caught sight of myself in a mirror on my way out, and nearly melted from mortification. I looked exactly like the gorgons, only measurably less happy about it. The armor was heavy and uncomfortable, already chafing my shoulders and knees, as well as a slew of other, more unpleasant places.

Figuring I had better get on with it, I marched to the coliseum, the metal clanking loudly. _There's no way the Romans did stealth missions in this,_ I thought, rolling my eyes. When I finally crossed all the practice fields, I was considering fighting in just my white tunic. My thoughts were interrupted by Lupa, however, who appeared at one of the many entrances. She prowled out to me and sized me up in the armor.

"Time to see what you're made of," she said, a hint of a sneer playing on her face and a chortle in her voice.

Maybe that was what set me off. An unnamed nervousness had been bubbling in me all morning, and it finally took form in anger. I was fed up with being underrated, tired of being looked down upon, sick of their smirks. Whatever it was, I stormed past Lupa wordlessly, pushing into the arena, my mouth setting in a hard line. The dusty floor of the arena creaked innocently under my sandaled feet, eagerly waiting to unleash whatever creatures were underneath it, as I strode out into the center. I stared defiantly into the crowd, which sat with a chilling silence in the stands. A Division Captain glared down arrogantly at me, about to speak, making me flare my nose and feel like a wanted to breathe fire.

"Perseus Jackson, you are here to challenge for your first class bar – "

I snapped, "Duh, I am. I'm the one who applied for this, I already know."

I think that stunned them a little. I didn't have time to think about it much before a trapdoor fell away in front of me, and a hydra clawed out of the hole with its four, double-jointed legs. Eleven heads hissed at me, acid-ducts shining in the roof of each mouth. I almost laughed; I was remembering a certain hobo who had put up a much fiercer fight than this beast would.

I dodged a few spurts of acid and flying teeth, then sliced all the heads off with one good lop from behind. I buried the heads under a makeshift stone (also known as the shield I wasn't going to use), one of two surefire ways to kill a hydra, and the beast fell to the ground with a quiet thud. It's form dissipated in gold ashes, pulled in different directions by the wind. Another trapdoor fell open, letting up a pack of hellhounds – something prickled in my mind, but I overrode the reaction – and I destroyed them, not even bothering with defense. The massive dogs leapt at me, and I hacked their bodies to golden ash. Easy.

Another trapdoor fell. I don't know where the word came from, but it popped into my head: _dracaenae_, demonic snake-women. There were two of them, one in heavyweight gladiator trappings and the other with a net and trident. My body dredged up training I had received a long time ago – training I couldn't remember – and acted of its own accord. I toyed with them a little, dodging their thrusts and the net, then swiped Riptide through their midriffs. They were still looking at each other, surprised looks creeping onto their faces, when they melted into nothing.

I was three challenges in without even breaking a sweat. True, I was covered in golden monster ash, but a little dusting of your enemies' destroyed bodies never hurt anyone. I was exhilarated. With all the complex training I'd dedicated myself to over the past three weeks, I had forgotten how easy it was to kill monsters. I didn't bother using the neat sword techniques I had learned, or mess around with my ocean abilities. I just hacked the things to bits. It was actually kind of fun.

I vented my frustration of the entire morning on the next monster to appear from a trapdoor; only this time, the trapdoor was so huge, the entire coliseum floor shifted aside while a plate slid away in the center of the arena. A Sicilian scorpion rose on a lift out of the floor, which then slid back into place. Without waiting for the monster to cock back its tail for a strike, or even to focus its luminescent orange eyes on me, I barreled straight at it. I wasn't aware of doing it at the time, but I discarded by torso armor and kilt by loosening the straps on the sides while I ran at the creature. The scaly metal slammed to the wooden floor, and free of deadweight, I ran three times faster towards the softer underbelly of the bug. The creature seemed too surprised by my agility to do anything (it was probably also wondering how I managed to shed my exoskeleton) and therefore didn't manage to do anything before a did a baseball player's slide and stabbed Riptide up into its softer underbelly.

I had some vague recollection of doing something similar before, but because I felt that same prickle pretty much all the time, it didn't bother me. I was focused on the shocked expressions of the Roman campers that I saw through the swirling dust of the black scorpion. The campers seemed incredulous, like they couldn't believe I had the nerve to beat their favorite monster.

I grinned.

The next few challenges were equally simple. I ran around with no armor but the basic arm guards, sandals, and loose white tunic, brandishing Riptide and slicing monsters to dust. They were all the same in essence: ugly, scaly, multiple-limbed in ways they shouldn't be, freaky crossbreeds with a hundred teeth and skin that secreted viscous liquids. They were also all the same in that they exploded when I ran them through with Riptide.

It started reluctantly, but then gained intensity and volume – applause. Each time I killed a monster, the spectators started to cheer. By the time I beat my ninth challenge, the entire stadium roared, the monster dust seemed more like confetti, and the floor unveiled my next task before the cheers had stopped.

A huge bird rose into the arena, gleaming strangely in the afternoon sun, and a mound of twigs in a knee high pyramid rose from a trapdoor a few feet away from it. The bird, which I figured was probably a phoenix – based on the way the tips of its bronze, gold, and copper feathers kept igniting – screeched and strode over to the mound. Then, with a primly regal expression, it sat, crushing the nest under its long, flowing metallic tail.

The objective was clear – get the eggs in the nest away from the phoenix. Or at least, I thought it was. Then I realized phoenixes didn't lay eggs, they went up in flames and rose from the ashes. Perplexed, I looked around the stadium, wondering what I was supposed to do. The crowd below the Caesar's box was yelling and gesticulating wildly to turn around, so, suddenly cautious, I glanced behind me by looking in the shining reflection in Riptide.

I stared at the mirror image of one of the most hideous creatures I had ever seen. It looked like a giant peacock that had been cannibalizing other birds for a while; it had bloodshot black eyes, a razor sharp beak, and claws that would make a _dracaenae_ run for its life. It only got worse when I slid the view Riptide gave me. Instead of colorful tail, a serpent's slithery end fused to the butt of the bird. I had only hear rumors that this creature existed: a basilisk. It was said that a basilisk had breath that was a noxious gas capable of poisoning a man to death with one lungful; eyes that could paralyze when looked at directly; and, despite being a bird, a hiss so powerful that it caused serious neurological damage and seizures. Thankfully, they were slow creatures, so if you came to face one and managed to avoid all of its main weapons, it was possible to get away. When I glanced up at the phoenix, it seemed even more smug look than it had before. All of its metal feathers were burning, and its regal eyes told me what I had to do: protect the baby phoenix that would soon appear from the basilisk behind me.

But how to kill something you can't look at, can't listen to, and can't breathe around? I ripped off one shoulder of my tunic (which wasn't hard, actually – it was already in tatters from all the other monsters) and wrapped it around my nose and mouth, tying it in the back. Then I drew my dagger and advanced backwards, watching the reflection in Riptide, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible, and dodging the swipes the basilisk made at my exposed neck.

I glanced quickly at the phoenix, checking on its safety, when it smiled wanly at me and burst into a twenty foot tall column of flames. The expression on the phoenix's face either meant that it felt safe under my protection, or that it was going to really enjoy watching me die.

I saw a burnished reflection of the basilisk opening its mouth to hiss, and I prepared to drop my weapons and cover my ears, but no sound came out. Instead, a smoky white vapor leaked from its open maw, and I barely had time to take a deep breath before the mist enshrouded me. I knew that I could only hold my breath for a few minutes, less if I was fighting; so, acting tremendously brave, I ran forward and as far away from the milky haze as I could. I stopped, standing near the funeral pyre of the dying phoenix, and finally took a breath, gasping in luxuriously pure air. I flicked the dagger up to my face, deciding it made a better mirror than my main blade, and scanned the area for the bird-beast. It was hiding in its own foul fog, so I was going to have to go back in, whether I liked it or not.

I hyperventilated a few times to fill my lungs with excess oxygen, then took another breath and plunged back in, still walking backwards and never taking my eyes off the dagger. I spotted the tip of a smooth grey-green tail, and backed up towards it as slowly as I could. Just when I got close enough to reach out my fingers and touch the basilisk's tail, my muscles locked up.

I was three feet from the beast's head and I couldn't move. The strain in every part of my body increased as my muscles pulled harder on each other, threatening to tear. Then I heard it: a low sizzling, like the sound of gas escaping a pipe. The basilisk's hiss. I strained against my disobeying body, forcing my arms to rise. They refused my orders, staying stock still in their positions. My heart pumped harder as my eyes started into tunnel vision. With an enormous effort, I jerked my arms into motion, slamming my palms against my ears, barely clutching the dagger and Riptide in my seizing fingers.

The tension in my body vanished. Apparently, that took the strength out of me as well, and I unintentionally collapsed to the ground next to the basilisk. I gasped in a lungful of air as my muscles buckled, thankfully noticing that the velvety mist in the air had dissipated. Unfortunately, I was still lying at the foot of the beast, which had just realized that I was there. I faced me, an expression of triumph in its ferocious eyes, and closed its slightly open mouth. I knew it had stopped hissing then, so I unclenched my fingers from my face and reached forward shakily to stab the creature in the abdomen.

The beak opened wide and shot a milky burst of vapor in my face. Coughing and bleary eyed, I pierced Riptide into the basilisk's stomach and watched as it exploded into golden powder. I hadn't breathed in much of the poison, but it was still enough for an electric shock of pain to pulse in my chest.

I had to ignore it. The phoenix had already fallen below deck, it's ugly, bald head poking out of a bed of warm coals, and the trapdoor had opened. I pushed to my feet with enormous effort, leaving the dagger on the ground and only bothering to bring Riptide with me. I coughed and ripped the cloth off my face to breathe better, stepping towards the rising platform.

And came face-to-face with a unicorn. I'm not gonna lie, despite the pain in my chest, my hacking cough and everything else, I tossed my head back and laughed. It was a delicious sensation, laughing in the face of a monster. Though, I had to reconsider, did unicorns qualify as monsters? While I was mulling this over, the enraged horse attempted to gore me with its horn. As the foot long silver cone slid off my throat with a loud scraping noise, I grabbed the unicorn's mane and jerked the beast off-balance, simultaneously kicking at its front legs. My attack forced it to its knees, where it flopped over onto its side.

Just to be sure that this was the objective, I glanced around quickly. Nothing else in the arena. The campers were cheering me on, though in my pain, their voices were muffled. I brought down Riptide with a decisive slash, and was left kneeling in a puddle of dust.

_That was eleven, _I thought, wincing as the electrostatic piercing sensation shot through my chest again. After the last powerful throb, I felt the pain from the poison finally fading for good, my invincible body immune to any real damage.

Suddenly, as the floor of the coliseum rumbled and split in two, sliding into opposite edges and leaving a yawning gap, I knew what my twelfth challenge would be before it appeared. Bobby hadn't warned me about the dragon without reason.

Glass walls slid fifty feet into the air around the arena, to protect the spectators from the creature. The winches below hauled a massive beast into my sight. First a scaled head three times the size of me cleared the gap, its bright red slit-pupiled eyes bordered by spines of scale glancing around with curious intensity. I directed my gaze downward, away from the eyes, before they locked onto me. A long neck followed the head, with holes that constricted and loosened with each breath lining the muscled arch. Spikes of bone stood out along the back of the neck and gills lay flat against the base of its head.

A heavily muscled body, perfect for swimming, flying, or running followed, backward hinging legs and webbed feet with claws holding the beast upright. Leathery wings folded precisely along the curve of its spiked spine. A tail curled out of sight, its tip covered in thick barbs.

"Why didn't I ask how Bobby killed the dragon?" I asked aloud, cursing my politeness. I looked down, noticing water starting to immerse the arena, already up to my mid-calf. The glass wasn't there for protection – it was to contain the flooded battlefield. With added relief, I noticed it was _salt_ water. An even better arena for me than a simple freshwater submersion. Strength poured back into me, and I couldn't hold back a grin. This might be easier than I thought.

The water gained speed, torrentially pouring into the tank. It was at my waist within seconds. I was thankful that I had the forethought (or obstinacy, whichever) to wear shorts under my tunic, because having a rather drafty skirt as the only clothing down below would've been bad in a giant pool. I shot through the water, which was now ten feet high and gaining. The dragon was only immersed up to the base of its head, still taking in the arena with little interest, and I used the time to approach the beast unseen. I glanced around underwater for a useful tool – like a length of giant metal chain, a shotgun, a tank, a nuclear bomb – with no luck.

Instead, I sufficed with starting a whirlpool in the tank. I ordered the water to wrap around the dragon's rear left foot, then to swirl. Gradually, all of the water got sucked into it as it gained momentum. The dragon glanced down, now slightly irritated, and snapped its teeth at me, but it's move was slowed by the water and I dodged it easily. A few more seconds and the cyclone sucked the rest of the dragon into the twirling water. With an annoyed roar, it tried to claw its way out of the storm, its webbed feet failing to gain any ground against the whirlpool. I sent the vortex racing around the arena, smacking the dragon's head into the glass walls with each turn. I watched, waiting for the dragon to fall unconscious so I could try to stab it in the roof of the mouth, which I guessed might be a weak spot. But the reptile only became more enraged, clawing wildly at the water and baring its teeth.

The water calmed when I released it, slamming the dragon back to the ground and cracking a leak in the floor. _No,_ I thought desperately as I started to lose the only advantage I had. The glass was springing leaks as well, not to mention the waves that dumped over the edges of the tank when the whirlpool sloshed to a halt. Hard terrain wasn't going to do me much good if all the water drained from the cracks in the glass and floor.

I scanned the emptying arena urgently, searching for something to give me an upper hand. In my haste, I forgot to avoid the gaze of the giant reptile, and its eyes caught me mid-scan. I stood there, transfixed by the golden tints in the glossy red eyes, while the arena emptied of water. To me, there were no spectators, there were no other monsters, there were no weapons in my hands. There was only the gaze of the monster and its voice slithering into my mind.

_You think to beat me with a few petty waves? _Thewords grew louder, sounding like a sigh._ I am no stranger to Poseidon's tricks, demigod. It's disappointing that you rate me below any real efforts of destruction._

It's trying to trick me. Trying to lure me into a trap, eat me –

_That boy called my kind riddlers? Pah! Sphinx take that disgusting title. I am Python, the first and greatest serpent, the wisest soothsayer, teller of the future and good counsel. You, demigod, appear to be in need of guidance. _

It's reading my mind – I have to look away – I'm in danger –

_You are also under the impression that I hunger for your blood. Foolish. I eat only the heroes who refuse what I have to say, refuse to listen, refuse to speak with me. If you are so worried, stop struggling._

What could a little advice hurt? If it tried to attack, I could always break eye contact and fight again – maybe –

_Much better. Let me say this for you – your mind appears to have suffered the attack of a greater being. They have stolen your memories both for your own good and theirs. You may not ever want to retrieve your memories. Fully recovered, they will lead you along a long, dangerous path._

No, I need my memories back, no matter what – but it still might be telling the truth –

_If you are so set along that idea, that you must find out your past, I recommend searching for my creator. She has the power to restore them, if only partially. When you find the path of your true ancestors, follow it. Do not let the ways of those nearest by remove you from your nature._

True ancestors, as opposed to – the people near me are trying to help –

_They are trying to assimilate you into a culture that you are not a part of._

But I'm a demigod, this is my culture – Wait, can you tell me my future?

_I cannot explain more than that. As for your future…_ the words faded slightly, then came back with new strength.

_You will abandon the curse _

_when it's needed most, _

_you will seek to reverse _

_the flight of a ghost._

The hiss died away, then returned with a new tone.

_As for the audience, demigod. I feel they want you to destroy me. To fulfill their wishes, you must look to the actions of Cadmus, who founded the city of Sparta. He will give you the answer, Greek. _

Why would you sacrifice –

_I will reform soon enough,_ Python hissed, sounding smug.

With shaky knees, I came back to myself. The entire coliseum was quiet, campers standing in their seats, leaning forward, their eyes stretching wide towards me like flowers to sunlight. More than one face was white as a ghost. The dragon's head, which I finally realized to be suspended two feet in front of me, broke eye contact and drew back, retreating to arch above its body.

I was still stunned from a realization Python had forced on me. I pushed it from my mind, to mull over later, and focused instead on his advice to defeat him. I thought for a moment, my memories tingling. It's teeth. Cadmus, in the old myths, had planted dragon's teeth in wet, loamy soil to give rise to a dozen Spartans. The only problem was getting hold of the dragon's teeth. I didn't want to go anywhere near them when they were still in Python's mouth. It was better than nothing, though, and the odds of thirteen on one definitely appealed to me.

My next move must've looked insane. It must have looked completely, utterly bonkers. But I did it anyway, knowing it was my only chance at winning fairly: I ran at Python, using the ankle-high water to shoot me into the air. I landed on the dragon's foot, and he arched his neck and snapped at me as I ran up his front leg. I climbed up his neck, wrangling his boney spines as I fought higher. He tossed his neck and head in attempts to throw me off, but I held tight at I climbed onto the top of his head. The crowd was back to screaming its approval as I slithered across his head, holding onto scales for dear life as he flailed.

I could tell the dragon's heart wasn't really in it though. He could've thrown me off by now, but had chosen to let me approach his mouth. I could still hear the smug tone of his voice as I clung to one of his nostrils and sliced Riptide through his gums. Four teeth fell like boulders to the water below, splashing loudly. Python roared in pain, redoubling his efforts to throw me off. He snorted, hot smoke raking across my hand that was anchored in his nose. I winced, but took another stab.

Several more teeth fell. I could see the water below already burbling, rising with foamy bulges as Grecian warriors rose from the ground. I hacked at Python's mouth as long as I could stand to hold on, then dropped to the ground with a splash. Eight men were rising from the water, their faces blank and eyes empty. In front of me, Python was spitting blood and fire, trying to scorch me unsuccessfully. When all twelve had risen, looking more like monkeys with their bulging pecs and chests covered in rugs of hair, I ordered them, "Skotóste ton dráko," my voice booming in the arena, loud and strong, even though I only vaguely understood my own words.

Together, my henchmen and I charged the dragon. Python blew fire at us but didn't do any harm; he tried to throw us off, but we clambered onto his hide like ants on rotten fruit. Each of the hairy men stabbed the tough hide several times when they saw me doing it, copying like true monkeys. Each time I sunk Riptide in the hide, a geyser of hot golden monster ash spewed from the wound.

In a few minutes, the greatest serpent of all had been reduced to nothing. The warriors looked to me, bleeding and confused, like, _You said kill dragon. Where dragon?_ They would've run off looking for more, too, if a few words hadn't stumbled quietly from my mouth of their own accord: "Sas efcharistó. Eísai gínei." I thought it meant something like, _"Thanks for your help, you can leave,"_ but I didn't really translate it; I _felt_ it. The warriors looked relieved, melting into the soggy floor of the arena. The glass tank retreated underground, the last dredges of seawater spilling under the trapdoors.

The campers, normally so disciplined and fearful of Lupa, roared like lions, applauding like they were trying to crush bricks between their hands and jumping up and down like their feet were on fire. Three figures broke free of the mass, vaulting down the walls and landing in the arena floor. They ran at me wildly, crazy grins spreading on their faces as they approached.

Reyna got to me first. She was breathing hard, but she smiled at me, showing all her teeth with flushed pink cheeks. She didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at me, and in the time it took for her to gather her wits, Bobby had sprinted up next to me. He grabbed me by the shoulder and grinned, saying, "Man, you didn't tell me you're a _boss_," he said cheerfully, clapping me on the shoulder. "How'd you do that? One second, you were staring down the dragon and we all thought you were lizard-meat, and then the next you yelled like that dude from _300_ and charged the thing with an army of hairy dudes! You're insane," he beamed at me.

"Yeah, well, you know," I said casually, shrugging. "Just kickin' it old school." _Really _old school. Like, _Greek_ old, I thought, smirking.

The last figure trotted up to me. It was a pretty eleven year old girl, with auburn hair French braided in flowers and tied with dried grass. She brushed a short lock out of her face and said to me, "Hi," with a pleasant smile and breezy voice. "I'm Hazel, daughter of Ceres." Then, with a fire I didn't think possible coming from a flower-child, she said intensely, "You freakin' _rocked_ that arena. Will you teach me how to do some of that stuff? I wanna be able to slay monsters like you can!" She mimed violently wringing necks and splitting heads.

"Uh, sure," I said, startled.

Reyna finally said, with a glint in her eye, "You look good in a skirt, water boy."

* * *

><p>The hull of a nearly complete ship rested on a pedestal in Bunker Nine. The masts, sails, gauges, instruments, oars, main deck, and ropes were still in the works or being laid out in well-organized rows. Of course they would be. Annabeth prowled among to building materials and campers, categorizing meticulously and directing to streamline the process as much as possible. Leo Valdez and the other Hephaestus kids huddled in a hurried but purposeful mass around the golden hull, currently discussing the best structure for the thwarts to support the keel.<p>

When Leo left the campers to their craft and approached the fixtures Annabeth was overseeing, he approached the daughter of Athena with some caution. She'd been getting progressively snappier at everyone to disturb her thoughts over the past three months. They all knew she was just concerned for her boyfriend – and possibly the Great Prophecy, which foretold a rather grim future – but her irritation was starting to effect overall morale. Leo said warily, "Annabeth?"

"Yeah?" she said, turning. She wore her characteristically distantly focused look, like she was thinking deeply about something that would affect the course of the universe. "Oh, it's you, Leo," she said, coming out of her glower. "What do you need?" she asked eagerly, wanting to help in any way necessary.

"Well," he started somewhat awkwardly, seeing the tension to work in her eyes, "I think – you should – maybe – well, take a break. You've been at this longer than the rest of us, and – we don't want you to get overworked," he finished somewhat lamely. Annabeth glared at him disbelievingly, her eager expression morphing into a deep frown. He sighed. Humans were so impossible. "Actually, it's that you're scaring some of the younger kids. They could do with a break from you."

Annabeth's eyes softened, losing some of their unnervingly intense quality. How that Percy kid could actually stand to go out with a person like this was a mystery to him – then again, he couldn't really get along with anyone that well. Machines were better. So what did he know? "I'm sorry Leo. I don't mean to be… off-putting. Anyway, I was just thinking – half this stuff, we don't need. It would be much faster to just leave it off." She gestured to the gleaming metal instruments on the work floor.

"What? Which ones?" he asked, wishing she had volunteered this information sooner. If they didn't need them, they wouldn't have wasted time building them.

"Well, the compass, the oars, the sextant, world clock, and theodolite to begin with…"

"Annabeth," said a deep voice. It was accompanied with the soft clops of horse hooves hitting the cement floor. Chiron sounded tired, exhausted from working with Annabeth. "You know you need those to measure latitude, longitude, and your velocity. You can't get rid of those even if – Well, we don't know if Percy is even going to be there. He might not be, so you can't count on his abilities and ignore critical instruments in the case that he is missing from the Roman camp as well."

"But the whole quest will be pointless without him anyway," she argued. "You know we won't pull off the quest without him. Jason will be flying the ship to the Roman camp, and he knows where he is in the air. Once we get there, we'll pick up Percy, and he knows where he is in the water. So maps, compasses, theodolites, sextants; they all seem pretty redundant. Plus, distances don't work the same when divine magic interferes, which is most of the time, so the instruments could be easily fooled. We can _save time_ this way," she insisted.

Leo had to admit, it was a sound argument. Except… "What happens if Percy and Jason are both unconscious or something? How will we know where to go?" he said.

Annabeth frowned, burning holes in his forehead with the look of disgust she cast his way. "Fine. Waste time, then. Just go ahead and _let_ the giants rise, why don't you. Give them a treasure map to Olympus, if you're so keen on helping them destroy the gods," she spat. She stormed out of the bunker, steam practically shooting out her ears.

"That's out of line – " Chiron started to call after her, for once sounding impatient with Annabeth.

"Nah, let her go," Leo advised sagely. He didn't particularly care what she thought, as long as she didn't think she needed to feed him to Peleus, the camp's guardian dragon. "Bugs like that need to work their way out of the system."

"She's not a machine, Leo. You can't predict the thoughts and actions of a person," Chiron retorted darkly. "You would do well to remember that around Annabeth." With a frown, the centaur trotted away, overseeing the work Annabeth had left behind.

"Yo, Leo! What angle do you want these struts?"

He turned to Mike and showed him the angle on the diagrams, his mind back to business.

Annabeth pushed out of the bunker, her mind storming with dark thoughts. She only voiced a few of her choicest thoughts on the subject of the ship with Leo. She kept her more sinister thoughts to herself, mulling over the prophecy and Percy. She wasn't terribly worried about him; he was invulnerable and an excellent swordsman. She knew it was impossible to erase muscle memory, so his fighting skills would be developed enough to keep him alive, even if he never landed in the Roman camp. She did, however, feel the smallest tinge of fear for their relationship; she knew it was petty, given the circumstances for him, but she couldn't help it. What would happen if he fell for some flimsy Roman girl or dryad while his memories were blank? She sighed, resigned to the fact she couldn't do anything about it even if that was happening at this very moment. Her boyfriend – she paused: she would have to stop calling him that, in case things didn't go well – her friend was on his own.

A sound stirred her from her thoughts. She looked up to see she had just emerged from the woods and a short satyr was trotting awkwardly towards her, waving his arms like a dying fish. "Annabeth! Thank the gods I found you!" His voice was excited, full of the smile spread lopsidedly across his face. Her heart pumped faster, a thousand impossible scenes flashing in her mind –

"I got through to Percy last night! I meant to catch you before you went out to the bunker this morning, but apparently you get up really early – "

"Come on, Grover, what did he say?" she gasped, cutting over his silly ramblings.

"Well, something was wrong with the empathy link. It was really fuzzy, and everything I said didn't go through very well, I think. I got through to him for about twenty minutes. I made as much sound as I could, but I don't think he could hear me, it was weird. It's never done that before. He was definitely looking at me, and he saw me, but it was like he didn't understand. He just stared blankly at me the whole time, and I tried everything…" He drifted off when her saw her expression and he abruptly looked ashamed rather than excited. "I'm sorry, I know I'm terrible at magic, but I don't think anybody could get through to him more than that – I think it's the divine barrier set in place between the Greek and Romans. I could only get through because Percy used to be a Greek…"

"No, Grover, this is great!" she said, with real enthusiasm. "It's progress. It's great! Keep working at it, maybe he'll be able to answer. And you're _not_ terrible at nature magic, it's like you said – the division of the Greek and Romans is getting in the way." She smiled, elated. Progress! After three months of silence, suddenly there was contact!

"You think we're really going to find him?" Grover asked nervously. He started to chew on a tin can he pulled from his jacket pocket.

"Definitely. We're getting closer every day," she said, full of real conviction. She went back to the bunker, leaving Grover standing there looking equally happy, her day and determination refreshed.

* * *

><p>The setting sun tinged the coliseum red. Instead of sitting in the stands this meeting though, he stood on the dusty arena floor, still in the tatters of his white tunic and sandals, having capped Riptide and shed his arm guards at the first available moment. He and the other campers were now back in the arena after a fulfilling dinner of unusually flavorful pasta, enjoying the warmth of the fire in the cool evening breeze. Lupa approached from her position by the fire and addressed him directly.<p>

"As you are all most certainly aware, we were pleasantly surprised today in the arena. Jackson destroyed the monsters with techniques that remind me strongly of an ancient fighting style, surprising ease, and, of course, his curse of Achilles." The campers said nothing, didn't even move, waiting for her verdict excitedly. "Not to mention his strange speech patterns," she said slowly, clearly hoping to cause a stir. While the campers must have noticed me speaking in Greek, for the moment they didn't seem particularly concerned. Instead, they waited in the flashing firelight. "Perseus Jackson," Lupa said, sighing in apparent frustration with her campers and proceeding to what they wished to hear, "Today you have earned your first class bar. However, after some consideration with the six Tribunes, they have convinced me to award you four class bars for your admirable behavior, quick thinking in battle, and surprising strength." Her tone made it clear that she was not a fan of this decision. It didn't matter; the entire camp was on its feet cheering. Lupa cleared her throat and the campers settled down gradually. When they were quiet enough, she said, "Jackson, your arm." I put forward my left arm, like Reyna had on my first night, and watched with interest as she touched her nose to the vein in my wrist.

It burned ferociously for a moment, then the sensation faded, leaving behind a tally of four crosshatches, the letters SPQR, and the outline of my dad's trident. How the burn managed to imprint on my impenetrable skin, I wasn't sure, but I supposed it had something to do with the goddess Lupa's magic. It was probably stronger than the magic of the Styx, a nymph.

"Additionally, the Tribunes feel your unique skills can be put to good use. They wish for you to deal with the beast in the mountain, because you are most likely the only camper that can. Of course, if you succeed and cause no injures to yourself or other campers, you will be eligible for more class advancement, deigned by the Captains and Tribunes. They wish for this to be done as soon as possible. Tonight or tomorrow at least. You may take a group of your choice with you for aid, if you wish.

"Moving on," she said, clearly an indirect order for me to return to my seat. "I want an update from the Vulcan Division…"

After the campfire, when we were left in the darkness of the night, the stars gleaming above, I flooded out of the arena with the rest of the campers. Several of them were approaching to congratulate me, and Reyna snorted and rolled her eyes next to me as they said bland words like, "I knew you were good from the start" and "I loved your fight with the basilisk". I paused outside the practice fields and the campers went their own ways to resume training. Reyna crossed her arms and refused to move, with Bobby and Hazel standing uncertainly behind her.

She said, "So. Who are you taking with on your mission?"

I had thought about it the entire time at campfire. I said confidently, "You, Bobby and Hazel of course. You're good with accuracy and healing, Bobby's good with fighting, and Hazel can cover everything else, right?"

Hazel frowned severely. She was about to correct me fiercely when a son of Mars pushed past her and forced his way towards me. He glared, standing over six feet tall and flexing his arms, and said obnoxiously, "You're a fraud. You only made it through those tasks today because you bathed in the Styx." His voice was deep and booming. In the darkness, I couldn't really tell, but he looked to be roughly seventeen.

I stood my ground, even though he was offensively close to my face. "Back off, man. If you've got a problem, at least have the decency to take it out with me in the daylight."

"Jason could've done that without the curse of Achilles," he mumbled bitterly, forming fists, but turned and made his way to his sparring partner. I breathed again, having been afraid to in those few seconds. His body odor might have knocked me out.

"Don't listen to him. Dakota's just…" Hazel said, her face taut. "…not handling it well."

Reyna interrupted the unhappy cloud that had formed over the group. "Anyway, we'll need someone else from Apollo, too. I'm kind of awful at healing."

Hazel mimicked Reyna's falsely light mood. "No kidding," she snorted. "You suck."

Reyna said quickly, "I'll go get Gwen. She'd be happy to help." She trotted into the practice fields and faded into the murky night. Bobby crossed his arms to ward off the cool night air and Hazel shuffled her feet uncomfortably.

"You didn't know him," Bobby said distantly, staring intently at a sparring group to avoid eye contact. "But you would've liked Jason. Everybody did."

"_Does,_" corrected Hazel fiercely.

"Yeah, well, we haven't come any closer to finding him, have we?" Bobby said angrily into the air. He grit his teeth an explained, "Jason disappeared two months before you came to the camp, Percy. Even with everyone looking, our entire Division of Minerva's children chasing every rabbit trail, we haven't gotten the slightest wind of him in three months. Nothing. I doubt we'll ever find him." Bobby fell silent coldly, the same furious, hopeless air surrounding him as when he had explained that the dragon had nearly killed him.

Hazel glanced at me and explained further, with a slightly downtrodden expression that was out-of-character for her, "He was Praetor of the First Legion, Captain of his Division, and Lupa's favorite. But that wasn't what made him important – he was our leader, he was kind to everyone, regardless of how much they avoided him, and he was a really loyal friend. When he led the attack on Mount Othrys, the battle seemed easy with him in front." She sighed, but then recovered her intense personality. "But we _will_ find him. We have to."

"I believe you guys," I said. "I'll do everything I can to help." They smiled a little vaguely, but didn't say anything.

While I sincerely felt their pain, I also felt slightly saddened by their concern over Jason. I doubted anyone felt that way about me. Annabeth maybe – but in the ring today, when I fought the hydra, I had been struck by another memory. It was just a flash, but I had seen Annabeth crouching in a little shelter near a creek, staring sadly at me, like I wasn't good enough. She'd been talking about someone she loved – someone she cared for much more intensely than me – just before we were attacked by a hydra in a bizarrely colored shirt.

It depressed me. The one person that I knew I felt real feelings for – she probably wasn't even looking for me. She was probably more concerned about whoever that other person was. I fought off a dark cloud threatening to engulf me and I smiled with false brightness at Reyna, who was jogging back into view with Gwen.

"Well, I have to say that I'm pleased to have been chosen for this," the college age girl said. She looked older than she was in the starlight, her mature expression reflecting her complete lack of fear. "I'll be glad to see that beast destroyed."

"I think we should just go now," I said. "It'll be better to just get it done."

"Dude, you look like death. Can't it wait till morning?" Bobby asked with concern.

"Nah," I said dismissively, rubbing tiredly at my eyes. I knew people had felt this way before, ordering me to bed, but I refused to give in to their opinions. We'd do this my way. And my way meant getting it over with tonight.

"Then let's get going. I'm not getting any younger here," said Gwen.


	4. Four: The Erymanthian Boar

**Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book **_**The Lost Hero**_** and the first published chapter of the actual **_**The Son of Neptune**_**; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: The Erymanthian Boar<strong>

We trekked through the wildest part foothills quietly, Hazel leading. As she gently brushed aside the flora, the branches she touched eased themselves slowly out of the way, revealing a clear path. The plants bent back into their original positions once we passed, obscuring the route back to camp. Hazel whistled a light, ethereal tune, which hung eerily in the midnight. Bizarrely, it seemed like the woods were reacting to it. The canopy of the thick woods leaned back, allowing dim starlight to filter into the lower levels. Legions of fireflies that hadn't been present minutes ago buzzed around our group, lighting the ground and surrounding area with a golden glow. A white tailed deer promenaded into our path and strode regally in front of us as an escort, its bleach white bobbed tail flashing in the light. The majestic animal nudged aside large logs and heavy stones, clearing the ground of hazardous obstructions. Spanish moss fluttered from higher branches and carpeted our path. Delicate silver flowers bloomed out of nothing along our path, offering up a shimmering radiance. _Moonlace_, I thought with an untraceable sadness.

Gwen, Reyna, and Bobby seemed to be taking this in stride. Personally, I had slowed to a meandering, sloth-like walk, swallowing the gradually changing scene in awe. Bobby, who was walking briskly behind me, nudged me in the back until I startled and walked forward again, my cheeks flushing with slight embarrassment.

We walked for ages, listening to Hazel's enchanting tune and drinking up the light of the woody path. I had almost forgotten where we were going, because of the relaxing nature magic, I stopped short when we reached a heavily overgrown oak door embedded in the hillside.

Hazel caressed the ivy crawling over the door until it shifted aside and revealed a discolored brass knob on the right. "After you," she said, her whistling stopping abruptly. The warmth of the woods faded immediately, the deer fleeing through the suddenly thick underbrush, fireflies scattering, and trees creaking back into position. Moonlace flowers wilted and withered with tragic speed, like they were on reverse time lapse. They retreated into the cold, dark soil.

I stepped forward and grasped the knob, which I could now barely see, and pulled hard. It rasped open, swinging grudgingly on its rusty hinges, to blast me in the face with a gust of chilly air. It smelled like rotting corpses. Not exactly inviting.

"Are you sure this isn't a passage into the Underworld?" I asked.

"Move it," Hazel said with her usual charming personality. She shoved me forward into the darkness with brutal force. I swear I could feel the handprint she left in my shoulder. Still, I forayed into the darkness, straining my eyes to see even the most indistinct of shapes. I could hear my team breathing deeply behind me, taking cautious steps into the tunnel. Gwen, who came in last, shut the door behind her with a groaning crash.

"Can't you make some glowing gems appear, or something?" I asked into the tunnel depths.

"No." Hazel didn't sound amused. "I only have skills with living elements of the wild. Now get moving."

"No kindly fireflies, I suppose?" I asked without any real conviction, moving into the darkness, my hands feeling blindly out in front of me.

"Nope. Not underground. They don't like it any more than I do."

"Well," Reyna put in cheerfully, "As soon as we get close to the monster, we'll be able to see. It breathes fire, remember?"

"Oh joy," Bobby said sarcastically. "As soon as we're about to be charred by a giant fire-breathing monster, we'll be able to see the flames shooting towards us."

I rolled my eyes, discovering the lack of light didn't matter anyway. The same ability that allowed me to see in the deepest parts of the lake allowed me to see in the tunnel. I walked forward with new confidence, arcing slightly to the right, because I could see the wall curving with the strange infrared vision I had. I followed the path, inclining when necessary and turning around the crisp corners that my deep-sea eyes outlined.

Bobby yelled in pain far behind me, the sound amplifying in the tunnel. I ran back to him fearfully, thinking a monster had attacked, and saw the blurry shapes of the rest of my friends huddled around him. He was on the ground, crouched, holding his face. "What happened?" I asked, bewildered.

"You didn't tell me there was a wall there, that's what happened," he growled, brushing his bloody nose on the shoulder of his shirt.

"Oh," I said stupidly. I had forgotten none of them could see like I could. "Uh, anybody have some rope?"

The shape that I thought to be Gwen nodded and pulled a long cord from her backpack. I took it and wrapped it around the torso of each of the others. I tied it around my waist and said, "Okay, let's go. I'll try to warn you before any sharp turns." We found our way through the tunnel, which began to incline steadily and zig zag in sharp U-turns. I felt like a mother duck, leading her ducklings blindly along a path only I could see. I knew the others must be feeling pretty humiliated, being led along by the equivalent of a child-leash, but if they did, they didn't say anything.

We must have gone a few miles when Reyna said quietly, "Something's following us."

We all stopped, listening intently to the sounds of our hard breathing (the tunnel was steep by now) and searching for sounds in the corridor. We stood stock still for two minutes, listening hard, when I finally heard it. A heavy plodding, muffled by distance and the closeness of the walls, thumped wearily behind us. It sounded like the footsteps of a gorilla wearing massive clown shoes, which, instead of comforting me, actually freaked me out more.

"Let's move. The sooner we get to the main cavern, the sooner we'll all be able to see," I whispered into the tense silence. We picked up the pace, panting as we climbed the incline and stretching our left hands out along the wall to feel for the next turn. We didn't have time to trust my supersensory eyesight.

The plodding behind us hurried closer, coming faster in the darkness. I adjusted our pace again, pushing our group into a jog up the slope. I whipped around a sharp turn whispering, "Right!" gutturally. I heard a girl, I think it was Hazel, curse in Latin as she crashed into a wall.

"Percy," she growled angrily. We didn't have time to slow down, though. I could hear the beast on our tails getting closer, close enough to hear its raspy breathing.

"Come on!" I shouted. I bolted, sprinting up the forty-five degree angle slope, ducking hard to avoid cracking my head on the gradually lowering ceiling. I had the longest legs, so I was able to run faster than the rest. Bobby struggled to keep up with me, tugging hard on the rope around my waist, Hazel following him, cursing loudly, Reyna tearing behind her, silently gasping for breath, and Gwen, the shortest, fighting hard to keep coming.

"Heads down!" I ordered shortly, crouching hard to fit in the shrinking tunnel. With relief, I saw a golden glow bursting at the end of the tunnel on my left, blinding me. A deep roar thundered, shaking the ground hard and making it impossible to hear anything but it and my own breathing. I rolled through the hole, which was roughly the size of a dumbwaiter shaft. Bobby, Hazel, Reyna, and Gwen trailed closely, tumbling through the gap into the giant, well-lit cavern. I ripped the rope off me, the rest quickly copying, and we stood to circle up back to back.

I faced the cavern, a massive beast the size of an RV standing in the center, its entire hairy body on fire. I could feel Bobby trembling slightly on my right, and I sensed Reyna take a small step back into the circle when faced with the beast. It had tusks that made a dragon's teeth look pathetic, and it was roaring, its head thrown back and spitting a thick stream of flames at the glistening cavern ceiling. It was the biggest, hairiest, meanest-looking pig that I had ever seen.

We were faced with other, more pressing issues though. The pig hadn't noticed us yet; unfortunately, the monster chasing us was emerging from the tunnel. Gwen and Hazel were facing it, and I heard them draw their weapons. I kept my eyes locked on the giant pig – the Erymanthian boar – and drew Riptide, but asked loudly, "What is it?"

Gwen answered. "Three golems. One stone, one earth, one ice. Minions of Terra." She and Hazel moved into action, swiping their swords to keep the monsters at bay. I tossed a glance over my shoulder to see what a golem was, and was met with a very unpleasant picture.

They were Earthborn. One was a man with a loose body made of mud and grass, another of rough-hewn grey rock, the last a jagged man-like shape composed entirely of ice. I couldn't figure out why the ice golem wasn't melting, given the oppressive heat of the cavern, but I supposed it didn't really matter. More important was the Erymanthian boar, which, judging from a louder than average roar, had just spotted us.

"Keep them occupied. Bobby and Reyna, let's take this thing down." We stepped forward just in time to be blasted with a jet of fire.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion: I saw the pig open its snout and breathe in deeply, a few flames starting to chase each other across the pig's tongue. Then it blew out, a column of heat exploding towards us. I shoved Reyna and Bobby off to each side with a little more force than necessary, and then crossed my arms high in front of me in a ward against the fire. I stepped towards the inferno, taking the brunt of the force and blocking Gwen and Hazel from it. I could feel my skin screaming in pain, but it didn't burn. The flames abated, leaving me feeling like I'd just jumped in the Styx and more tired than I'd ever been. The boar snorted, raking its hoof against the stone cavern floor, preparing to charge.

"Reyna, Bobby, plan Macedonia!" The word came from nowhere, but I knew it was what I wanted to do. The ever-present tingle in my mind intensified, but I shook it off, ignoring my suddenly intense headache.

"_What?_ Reyna screeched.

"Attack from the sides, I'll distract him in front!" I charged towards the pig before it could try to squash any of us. Apparently Bobby and Reyna both thought I was nuts, because they didn't move. They watched from where I had pushed them down, gaping open-mouthed. Well, I guess plan Macedonia had just gone down the drain.

I couldn't stop now. The boar was watching me with flashing steely eyes, momentarily transfixed by the tiny creature that wouldn't burn._ Weak points,_ I thought, brainstorming. Ears. Roof of the mouth. Eyes. Underbelly. Under the hoof. Behind the neck. I darted under the pig, carefully keeping underneath its belly as it turned in circles, trying desperately to see me.

I dodged lightly around the pig's feet, dodging jets of fire that it started to spit. I knew that if I got hit by one, I would be blasted backwards several feet. I had to stay close to keep its attention, especially if I was going to hit a weak spot.

_Hoof,_ I decided to try first. I jabbed Riptide into the back of one ankle. Like I wanted, the pig squealed and lifted the foot, giving me time to stab Riptide up into the soft tissue underneath. Unfortunately, the pig's foot wasn't vulnerable enough. My sword scraped off the tissue, skittering twenty feet away, while the boar brought its foot down. I only barely managed to dodge being trampled, retreating underneath the pig's belly, weaponless.

I was going to have to make a break for my sword. I couldn't do anything without a weapon. I locked my eyes on the glimmering sword, its Celestial bronze surface glinting in the reflected flames of the pig's fur. I blinked, and suddenly, the sword was gone.

What? As far as I knew, no pig – mythological or not – had the ability to vanish objects at will. I looked around in alarm, and a glint caught my eye. My sword was back on my belt, hooked into the loop on my right side. With a confused but happy sigh, I drew Riptide and looked up, expecting to see a furry pig belly.

I was in for an unpleasant surprise. In my moment of confusion and fear, the pig had moved aside. It saw me and breathed a cord of fire at me, blasting me backwards several feet. I trudged forward into the flames, holding Riptide above my head and fighting the powerful current of heat. I fought my way back to my position under the boar's belly, emerging from the tunnel of fire.

I heard a blood-curdling bellow. I whipped my head towards the sound to see Bobby rolling on the floor in utter panic, trying to stifle the flames blossoming on his chest. Reyna ran over to him, beating at the flames with her hands, trying to extinguish them unsuccessfully. In horror, a wave roared in my ears, overtaking every instinct. I pointed my left arm stiffly at the burning pair, and a lurch of water blasted forward from my skin. The wave was more powerful than any that I had conjured from a stream or lake – it burst from my arm like a fire hose, ripping torrentially across the cavern and dousing Bobby and Reyna to the bone. They spluttered as they got to their feet, nodding gratefully at me.

I sighed in relief, but crouched, about to collapse. The power of the jet had been huge, draining on my energy reserves massively. I only barely managed to stop the flow erupting from my arm, and when I did, I bent double laxly, tired to the bone. I blinked blearily, black stars flashing in my eyes. I grunted and righted myself, looking up. The pig sill hadn't found me yet. I took the moment – and the rest of my sparse energy – to jab Riptide into the creature's abdomen.

Thankfully, out of sheer luck, I had hit the Erymanthian boar's only weak spot. It squealed like – well, like a dying pig. It burst into flames, golden ashes melting out of its disintegrating body. I knelt, not out of reverence, but out of exhaustion. Riptide clattered out of my slack hand, and I bowed my head, resting it against my knee, hoping to recover my breath. Apparently, I was indestructible, but severely influenced by the effects of tiredness.

I heard the concerned voices of my friends echoing in my ears, like they were down a well, black sparkles lighting up with greater frequency in my eyes. I gasped in a breath, and, with a tremendous effort, stood up. My sight was still blurred, but I saw Bobby and Hazel clenching hard onto my arms, saying something, trying to support my shaky weight. Reyna was talking to me in concern, feeling my forehead. Gwen was somewhere distant, finishing off the last golem.

"Well," I said, somewhat slurred, "That was fun."

My friends laughed, and we made our way out of the darkening cavern, with me propped up between two of them. My arms were slung around their necks, and I tried my hardest to help walk along, and not be dead weight.

The walk through the tunnel and the woods was shorter coming back. Probably because I was alert for very little of it. At some points, I woke up, aware enough to realize I had passed out while walking. I would put more effort into staying awake and walking for a while, but then slip back into sleep until something jolted me awake again. The people supporting me didn't seem bothered by this, though. Hazel was downright cheerful on my right, happily toting me along. Bobby was less so, occasionally wincing at the severe burn on his chest, but refused to allow Gwen to hold me for a while. Reyna led the way, cradling her burned hands against her chest, foraying along the trail bravely. When we got back to the edge of camp, I woke up blearily, long enough to see the rising sun warming the horizon. Then I passed out.

* * *

><p>I woke up from a blissfully dreamless sleep, blinking and rubbing my eyes. A cushioned bed supported me, blankets swathing me comfortably. The ceiling was white tile, with industrial lighting. I felt rested and energetic, not hurt in the least. I was wearing soft cotton pants and a purple shirt. I looked around curiously, wondering where I was and how I'd gotten there.<p>

Bobby was in the next bunk to my right. He was grinning at me, propped up by pillows. Heavy bandages wrapped thickly around his chest. He had a book in his lap, but it was momentarily forgotten. He jested with me, "Nice to see you awake, sleeping beauty. You've been out for three days."

I jerked into a sitting position, staring at the kid. "What?"

He ignored me and went on conversationally, "You know, it's hard to play the part of the coolest demigod in camp, who single handedly killed the Erymanthian boar and saved the lives of his two teammates, if you drool in your sleep." My eyes widened slightly and I snapped shut my open mouth. He laughed at my expression. "It's okay, nobody's allowed in the infirmary unless they're wounded or completely incapacitated. So nobody knows but me, Reyna, and Gwen."

Speaking of, Gwen walked into the room, holding a tray of grapes, scrambled eggs, and roast lamb. My mouth started water. She sat it down on my lap and said with a smile, "Eat up."

I didn't wait for another word. I dove into my breakfast, gulping down everything. Bobby said, "You know, Gwen was the one healing me and Reyna. She said she wouldn't do anything for you – no ambrosia, no nectar – because there wasn't anything strictly wrong with you. I was gonna force her to give you _something_ if you didn't wake up by tomorrow." I nodded vaguely, shoving as many grapes as would fit into my mouth.

Gwen leaned against the wall, rolling her eyes. "And I was right, now wasn't I?" she said exasperatedly. "Perfectly fine. Boys always eat like that if there's nothing wrong with them."

"Where's Reyna?" I managed to splutter through a mouthful. She wasn't in the infirmary.

"She got out the day we got back. Healing her hands was easy," Gwen said. She jerked a thumb at Bobby. "Not nearly as difficult as this kid. His burns are bone-deep. Third degree, much more difficult to heal."

Bobby shrugged sheepishly. "But guess what?" he said excitedly. I could tell that this was what he'd been itching to say since before I woke up. I shrugged, swallowing a gulp of milk. "I got my next officer rank! Apparently dragging a comrade back to help while suffering third-degree chest burns is selfless enough to get promoted, even though I didn't fight the boar."

I smiled genuinely. "That's great!"

"Not nearly as great as what you got," he said, grinning. He pointed at my wrist.

I looked down and saw that I had earned another four class bars. Eight black lines stood out prominently against my tan wrist, charred onto my skin. I choked slightly on my roast lamb, swallowed with difficultly, and gasped, "What did you tell them? I didn't do anything_ that_ great."

Gwen chuckled. "Apparently your definition of _'that great'_ is a little different from ours."

Bobby smirked and said, "It wasn't me anyways; Hazel told them the whole thing. She's really good at telling stories, which probably helped your case some. She told them everything, from you leading us through the darkness to beating the boar to shooting water at me. What you did was crazy. Totally crazy. But really, really, awesome." He grinned at me and I couldn't help smiling widely back at him.

"You seem to have a knack for psychopathic actions," Gwen muttered, which made us both laugh. "All right, you two. You're both well enough to come to tonight's campfire. Don't miss it." With that, she left the room, swinging the door shut gently behind her.

"Seriously, man. You're crazy," Bobby said sincerely. "You're not like any of us. Are you sure you can't remember anything about your past? Have you ever been trained?"

I paused. I didn't know if I'd ever been trained, but I knew I had friends just like me and a home. Greek friends. I knew what Python meant now: I wasn't like the Romans. They had tried to make me a part of their world, but I never could be. I had an inkling that had been intensifying ever sense my first day here – it was wrong, me being on this land. Speaking with these demigods. Training in their ways. I knew innately that Romans and Greeks hated each other deeply, and it would be very dangerous for me if they ever figured out my real lineage. They had started to realize it, and I couldn't let them ever come to fully know the truth. They would try to kill me.

I was grateful that none of them were smart enough to figure out I had spoken in Greek several times. I resolved to try to hide my secret as long as possible. As long as it took me to figure out my past and go back where I belonged.

"Nah. I've never been trained before. I think I've always just roamed the country on my own." The lie felt awful as I said it, especially to such badly wounded friend, but I had no choice.

Bobby believed me though. I saw it in his eyes. He leaned back against his pillows in disappointment and said, "Well, if we had about twenty more of you, I don't ever think we would go back to our old ways of training and fighting."

I wanted to say, _my way of fighting _is_ the old way_, but I held my tongue and nodded mutely. I lay back, feigning sleep.

The day passed slowly. There was a window next to my bed and I resolved myself to staring out it and watching the day's training. The truth was, I felt great. I wasn't tired any more, I wasn't sore, I wasn't hurt. I felt horribly sorry for Bobby, who winced noticeably every once in a while if he shifted too much during his reading. By sunset, we had left the infirmary. I was itching for the meeting at the campfire. Anything to break the monotony of a completely lazy day. It was like I could feel my muscles atrophying while I laid there.

We made our way across the grounds, Bobby wrapping one arm tightly around his lower chest and grimacing. He blatantly refused any help that I could give him, so I walked slowly beside him, feeling somehow responsible for his injury. By the time we got to the arena, he was as white and blank as snow, in pain but wordless. I helped him to his seat, regardless of his protestations, and went to sit by myself on the other side, where I had established myself as the Neptune Division.

Poseidon, I corrected. I had been right in the first place. My father was Poseidon, not Neptune. Although I wasn't really sure there was a difference, I felt like it mattered somehow.

The camp bonfire was as huge as ever, roaring with loud crackles and snaps, towering plumes of loose embers breaking free and spiraling into the sky. Lupa strode into the arena, fashionably late as she always was, to make her big entrance. We knelt reverently and resumed our seats, while she began the evening's meeting. She started off with simple stuff, getting updates from the Captains, assigning small missions for upkeep purposes, and congratulating those who had completed minor missions. Then she addressed me and Bobby.

"Tonight, we shall recognize the extremely successful efforts of five demigods who have proven themselves far beyond the average in camp. While they recovered in the infirmary from their task, I am sure many of you have heard convoluted versions of their tale from unreliable sources. Namely, our Venus cabin." She glared at a few girls who blushed. Venus did have a tendency to spread rumors. "If you wish to hear the whole tale, ask Hazel later. I'm sure she would be thrilled to relive the event." I glanced towards the Ceres kids and saw Hazel holding her head high proudly, instead of blushing, while she smiled. Campers stared at her avidly. _She must be a really good storyteller_, I thought.

"The Tribune, as I'm sure some of you are aware by now, have decided to award each of the five demigods honors fitting to their tasks. Reyna Marcellus, rise." Reyna stood up quietly and received Lupa's next praise without comment. "You proved your loyalties to a friend in helping him survive, and in turn sacrificed the well-being of yourself. The Tribune thanks you, and awards you a week of break from training." Reyna nodded and sat.

"Hazel Cassius, rise." Hazel bounded to her feet with a cheerful hop. "You devoted yourself to the safe passage of your friends both when they were able bodied, and when they were severely wounded. You fought golems of a description I know to be very rare and powerful. The Tribune thanks you, and awards you with a week of break from training." Hazel sat. Gwen rose before her name was called.

"Gwyneth Volumnius, rise. You severed your friends in battle, and protected them from the selfsame golems as Hazel fought. You destroyed all three of the servants of Terra. You nursed your injured friends back to health after they had fallen. The Tribune thanks you, and awards you with a week of break from training." Gwen sat. Bobby rose unsteadily, finding his footing and standing tall, despite the bandages binding his torso.

"Now we acknowledge those who have not yet been publicly thanked. Bobby Hargrove, rise. You showed selfless loyalty to a friend in need, supporting him to safety even while seriously injured yourself. For your actions, the Tribune thanks you, and awards you with the officer rank Duplicarius." The Mars group erupted into applause, which quickly died out under Lupa's gaze.

"Perseus Jackson, rise." I stood up, feeling every eye shift to me, watching and listening closely for some indication of the truth behind the rumors. "You led your friends into battle along a path that is normally impossible to traverse. You avoided golems long enough to provide your friends with an open fighting ground. You single handedly defeated the Erymanthian boar, which has not been done by anyone besides fire-users and Hercules himself. You saved two of your friends from a horrific death by using your powers in a climate normally barring against a demigod of your lineage. You managed to escape not only alive, but with no injuries besides mild exhaustion. For your valiant and effective efforts, the Tribune expresses their deepest thanks, and awards you four class bars and the rank Duplicarius."

There was a short uproar of cheering at this, which quickly died down again. I honestly couldn't care less what rank they assigned me, or what honors they bestowed upon me. As long as they didn't think it would make me happy to be sent off on another mental mission anytime soon. I sat down in relief while Lupa moved onto larger status updates of more interest. Finally, she arrived at the final matter that she was going to discuss.

"Statues update from the Mercury Division. What information have you managed to gather for the secret mission I assigned you?" The tall son of Mercury named Hyllon rose slowly. His face was etched into a deep frown, reminding me of some son of Hermes I had once known. My headache throbbed, refusing to supply me with any more information, leaving me to only wonder. It left me with the feeling of acid bile rising in my throat. Not a good feeling.

"Do you wish for me to tell my results here?" he asked. When Lupa nodded, he took a deep breath and said, "It was as you suspected, Lady Lupa. We have found the rebirthing places of six giants. We have searched across the country and found six that are still in the process. If there are indeed nineteen original giants to rise, as you suggested, then we have failed to find the rebirth places of seven others." The campers stirred uneasily, whispering, receiving the news unhappily.

"Do you know which have risen?" Lupa asked. For once, her voice wasn't strong. It was laced with fear and trepidation.

"Yes, my lady. With the help of the Minerva Division, we were able to deduce the identities of the risen and rising giants. Would you like me to present their names now?"

"Please do," she said, though her voice was screaming, _Please don't! Please don't! Please don't!_

Hyllon took a deep breath, because he knew, like I did on some deep level, that names held power. He said slowly, "Porphyrion, bane of Jupiter; Alcyoneus, bane of Neptune; Thoon, bane of Pluto; Enceladus, bane of Minerva; Eurymedon, bane of Venus; Hippolytus, bane of Mercury." Here he paused and shivered slightly, the way each camper did as the blight of their godly parent was named. I had a horrible feeling about Alcyoneus and shivered down to my bones when his name was mentioned. Hyllon continued, "Rising presently are as follows: Damysos, bane of Apollo; Gration, bane of Diana; Mimas, bane of Vulcan; Agrios, bane of Mars; Clytius, bane of Ceres; Eurytus, bane of Bacchus." Here he paused again, hoping that Lupa would ask him to stop. Not receiving any signal from her unreadable wolf-face, he continued somewhat weakly, "The last seven are smaller threats, but we have failed to identify their points of rising. We will keep searching." He sat down jerkily, having stood while the sky rumbled loudly the entire time he spoke.

"Thank you, Hyllon." Lupa paced in front of the fire. There was a cold, fearful silence in the camp, because we all knew what she was going to say next. To no one's surprise, but to the horror of all, she said, "We will need to send teams to slow the rising of the giants." The silence was as thick as cement, unbreakable and sludgy. "If they all rise successfully, we are doomed for certain. I wish to send out teams of only the best demigods we have. Duplicarius and above only, preferably Division Captains as well. I need not bother to say that it will be unspeakably dangerous. I believe some of you may not come back alive. But while you may not be able to stop their rising, you must try. Those willing to volunteer, rise now."

I knew now why I had been promoted so many officer ranks. I had started today as the lowest ranking soldier, and jumped up to a Major in the past few minutes. Lupa had planned this – she wanted me on this mission. My nerves jangling slightly, I almost didn't believe myself when I straightened and stood. I looked around and saw five Captains rising to their feet.

"Very well. You six shall be the mission leaders. You may each choose three demigods of Duplicarius rank or higher to accompany you. You leave tomorrow. See Hyllon, he will assign you the giants you will each hunt, and inform you of their points of rebirth. We all wish you the best of luck." It didn't sound that way – her voice was low and somber, like a funeral dirge. "You are dismissed."

Everyone shuffled around, filing out of the stadium for practice. I wandered over to the Mercury Captain, who was surrounded by five others. He said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I know Lupa says to do everything in your power to take them down, even if it means dying… but if it comes to the point where there's nothing you can do, don't needlessly throw yourselves in front of the giant and beg to be killed. Your real top priority is to come back alive. We'll need all the help we can get in the future." His face darkened. "From the sound of the Great Prophecy, there's going to be a war. We'll need everyone we have. So try your hardest not to die.

"Anyway, back to business. I've got this sorted out so that no one will have to face the giant created to destroy their godly parent. So, Silvia, daughter of Minerva, you'll face Eurytus; he's rising under the St. Louis arch. David, son of Mars, you get Clytius; she's rising near the Old Faithful geyser in Yellowstone. Vulcan Captain Alyssa, you can take Agrios, who's rising in the Shiloh Battlefield in Tennessee. Apollo Captain Gwen, I'll give you… Mimas. You'll find her in the blasted summit of Mount Saint Helens. Venus Captain Cesara and Neptune Captain Percy, you'll probably have to work together. The twin giants Damysos and Gration rise together, the way the twin gods they were born to destroy did. You'll find them just outside of Minneapolis, Minnesota. My resources weren't exactly clear, so that's the best I've got. Hope you all do well. The fewer giants that rise, the better."

"Hold on," I said, calling the group back together. "How, exactly, are we supposed to stop them from rising?"

"You have to kill them before they're fully born. If they're fully born, run. There's nothing you can do on your own," Hyllon said gravely. "We need the help of the gods to destroy giants, and lately, our parents have been less talkative. I highly doubt they'll help you. Anyway, if the giant isn't fully awake yet, kill it using any powers that you have. Be creative and you might be able to destroy it. That's all I know."

We dispersed, leaving Hyllon looking aged and weary. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more, Percy. I just don't know how to kill a giant. Even the Minerva kids…"

"Hey," I said with false brightness, "It's okay. We'll figure something out."

"Yeah, you _are_ Percy Jackson. You'll work out some ridiculous solution," he said with a chuckle. I thought he was putting too much faith in me, but I didn't say anything. His smile was strained as he said, "Just try not to die in the process."

"Sure," I said and climbed down the steps to find Cesara. She was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, her arms crossed in graceful silence. "Hey. Who are you going to bring?"

She mulled it over for so long, I thought she deemed me beneath her notice. Then she said confidently, "I'll bring Tanner, Mia, and Zach. You'll bring Bobby, Reyna, and Hazel?"

I blinked and replied slowly, "Yeah, that was what I was thinking."

"Then we'll take Apollo's giant, and you can take Diana's. So Reyna won't get hurt."

I hadn't even thought about that. It would probably be best if Reyna didn't fight the giant meant to destroy her father. "Oh, yeah. Sure. But I thought we would be working together. So it doesn't matter which giant we each take, we'll have to fight two giants together, right?"

"I'm not working with you," Cesara replied stiffly. Her perfect lips curled down in a slight grimace. "You're a show-off who doesn't ever think tactics. You'll charge in and get us all killed if we work together."

Both insulted and exasperated, I said, "But we'll be fighting the _twin_ giants, who rise at the _same time_ in the _same place_. What's the difference?"

Cesara shot me a dangerous look. I would prefer to take on a pit scorpion than the vehement daughter of Venus right now. "My team plus yours," she said slowly, like I was a toddler, "equals eight dead demigods. My team minus yours equals seven living demigods and one dead, cocky, Achilles-cursed jerk." She spun on her heel and flounced off elegantly.

I stared at her open-mouthed for a moment. I couldn't believe this evening. I _volunteered _to go on a nearly suicidal mission, failed to convince Cesara we needed to work together to take down the giant twins, and suffered the humiliation of being called an arrogant jerk without the mental capacity to make valid plans. That wasn't true: I did have plans before I attacked. They just usually centered on my indestructibility while my friends sat on the sidelines. It was easier, safer, and more realistic that way. It wasn't like I enjoyed the attention. I just wanted people to act normally around me, instead of in awe or dislike that I didn't deserve.

Frowning at the injustice of it, I stalked out of the stadium to find my teammates.

* * *

><p><strong>You might consider writing down the giant's names and the gods they were each created to destroy as a reference, so I don't have to keep re-explaining it in future chapters.<strong>

**A short list:  
><strong>**Porphyrion – Zeus  
><strong>**Alcyoneus – Poseidon  
><strong>**Thoon – Hades  
><strong>**Eurymedon – Aphrodite  
><strong>**Enceladus – Athena  
><strong>**Damysos – Apollo  
><strong>**Gration – Artemis  
><strong>**Hippolytus – Hermes  
><strong>**Mimas – Hephaestus  
><strong>**Agrios – Ares  
><strong>**Clytius – Demeter  
><strong>**Eurytus – Dionysus  
><strong>**Pallas – Hestia  
><strong>**Polybotes – Triton (son of Poseidon and Amphitrite)  
><strong>**Pleorus – Persephone  
><strong>**Theodamas – Hera  
><strong>**Otus  
><strong>**Ephialtes  
><strong>**Leon**


	5. Five: The Venti

**Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book **_**The Lost Hero**_** and the first published chapter of the actual **_**The Son of Neptune**_**; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: The Venti<strong>

Just like I expected them to, all three agreed to come with me immediately. They actually looked relieved when I told them, like they thought I would invite someone else. Hazel was raring to go, Reyna looked excited but composed, her hands healed to full health with a few ambrosia squares. Bobby had been the most afraid that he couldn't go, given his serious injury. I considered leaving him to rest and repair his burns, but I knew that for him, the coolness of going on a quest to destroy a giant would far outweigh the pains of dealing with an injury on the road. Plus, I would never find anyone nearly as skilled with a sword and loyal.

All the teams gathered the next morning in front of the lake. It was flashing with sunlight on its loose waves, brisk morning air whisking through the hair of all demigods present. The other campers were still eating breakfast, rushing through the dining hall and chatting chaotically, par usual. Lupa prowled before us, her paws digging deep into the scummy sand and mud on the edge of the breaking water. She was thinking, her personality just as distant, cold, and brooding as normal, with an extra helping of unnerving. We all backed up a foot unconsciously when she stopped and surveyed us, sitting primly in the muck of the lake. Curiously, she wasn't getting dirty. I suppose it was a goddess thing.

"This will be exceedingly dangerous. I only approve of it because it is necessary," she grumbled. She sounded almost resentful, like we had pressured her into this. Like she was being manipulated. Yeah, right. "You will each receive a prophecy, if our Oracle deems you worthy. If not, he will –"

"Wait!" I burst. "There's already an Oracle. And it's a girl, a friend of mine, who I'm pretty sure doesn't live in a lake." That last bit I couldn't say with certainty. You never know with demigods.

"He will ignore you completely," Lupa finished, bludgeoning me with an irritated glare. "Perseus, while your personal breakthroughs are wonderful, I must ask you to reserve them for yourself and particularly boring conversations. Moving on. Some of you have had the pleasure of meeting the Oracle in the past. He is a disturbing figure, so I ask you to prepare yourselves."

I guessed, given that the Oracle lived in the lake, he was a naiad or- or- _the lake monster_. The glowing red eye in the murky depths, the scaled body slithering slowly through the murk; it carried the same human-level intelligence Lupa had: unnatural from a creature of its kind. Could it also tell the future?

Initiated by a mental call from Lupa, I assume, the lake water began to bubble and foam, a dome stretching the surface of the waves. The water exploded aside, revealing the whipping neck of the leviathan. Its glassy crimson eyes – those same eyes of the water dragon that had captured me in the arena – stared at the crowd with amusement, hovering to a stop on me for a moment before gliding on with a rumbling chuckle.

He then proceeded to stare into the eyes of the team captains, one by one, pausing longer on some than others. I didn't watch, instead choosing to stare avidly into the distant hills surrounding the lake on the far side. I had hiked up those hills a few weeks ago, on one of my lake excursions –

The lustrous eye of Python caught my gaze.

_Sooner that you thought, no?_

Yeah, I didn't know you were the lake monster –

_Monster? When did I ever show malevolence to you in the water? I respect all beings that breathe water and pay them no attention. No matter. Your personal thoughts on my actions – which are interesting, I assure you, that bit with the sarcasm you thought just now, very clever – matter none to me. I am here to issue a prophecy. Though I feel I provided you with more information than I ought in the arena, I suppose I am obliged to offer you a slight bit more guidance now. For the sake of ritual, more than anything._

That's great. I appreciate guidance, because I have no idea what I'm doing. Though if this prophecy could exclude anything dealing death, that would be even better –

_Your lack of knowledge is more acute than you realize. Regardless, I hope you return alive from this mission. Your future is held in these lines:  
>First rising of the earth yields<br>Total ruin of life and fields.  
>There, a foe transformed to a friend<br>Shall meet an untimely end;  
>So seek farther, deity's hero,<br>For relic of your horror,  
>Find a truth obscured in woe<br>To triumph and beat your foe.  
>Quite a doozy, that prophecy. I hope I fulfilled your wishes, in leaving out too much strife?<em>

Not quite.

We broke eye contact, Python chuckling an ominous guttural hiss, and he shrunk back into the waves, leaving the lake's surface just as choppy and windswept as before. As if nothing had happened.

"So?" Reyna asked, ready to be debriefed on the future.

Other groups were sharing their futures, except Cesara's group. They were looking at each other in disappointment. I felt better at that, but turned to my team and said distractedly, "Uh, well, you know, sometimes knowing the future isn't good for you." But at Hazel's intense glare, I knew that keeping secrets at legion camp was the marking of a traitor. Perfect, considering I was harboring a secret that would warrant the entire camp ripping me to pieces without further investigation. I repeated the prophecy, leaving out the second couplet entirely. I didn't know which one of us it would be, but I would try as hard as I could to prevent that from coming true. They didn't need to know that one of us would die and untimely death, because I might be able to stop it. I had to. Besides, the ruin of our first attempt to destroy the giants would be enough to think about, for now.

"Well, it sounds like the trip won't be much fun, but at least we'll be successful," Bobby quipped as brightly as he could, considering the pained grimace creeping across his face. He quelled the expression quickly, switching disconcertingly to a confident smile.

"But at what cost?" Reyna asked perceptively, staring in my eyes with a questioning light.

I looked away, managing my hair distractedly, to disentangle it; this morning I had gone for a swim in the lake and barely endeavored to dry and comb my hair at all. I used this action as a vague thinking gesture, knowing that I was a horrible liar and couldn't get away with hiding the truth in this conversation much longer. Instead of answering, I changed topics abruptly, not bothering to segue smoothly. So much for subtlety. "How are we going to get to Minnesota?"

Reyna continued to leer at me thoughtfully, looking somewhat goaded by my refusal to allow her all the information, while Bobby trotted off happily, shouting over his shoulder, "I'm gonna go get us some transport! I know just the thing." He disappeared into the woods, clutching his chest when he thought we weren't looking. After Bobby left, Reyna dropped the subject, and we went to eat breakfast with the others before we departed.

* * *

><p>We were packed and prepared to leave within the hour, sacks of demigod supplies (food, nectar and ambrosia, food, a few extra small weapons, rope, and food) dragging on our backs, the other five teams similarly. In our honor, the camp was flying flags with the emblems of the team leaders. A shining, gold-trimmed sapphire trident glowed on a field of sea green fabric for our team. All the campers attended to see us off, huddling around the portcullis like penguins in an arctic storm. Disciplined penguins, that is.<p>

Reyna, Hazel and I stood independently from everyone else, like the other teams, skimming the crowd and grounds anxiously. Bobby was a no show so far – I hoped he hadn't meant Simba when he said 'transport'. That's what I was planning on using in the first place; I was going to call the silly bird just before leaving. As to how the griffon would support the combined weight of all four of us, I was still thinking of solutions. Then I a dull roar jerked me from my musings – I glanced to the mountain on first instinct. But since our last mission, it had been silent and still. I couldn't make sense of it, until the ground rumbled again, coming from the opposite direction.

The mass of demigods split aside hurriedly, stumbling backwards as a rift tore through the mass towards our group. Through the tunnel emerged a certain son of Mars appearing extremely pleased with himself, mounted on a steaming, roaring metal beast. The two wheeled chrome-and-crimson creature rolled sleekly towards us, while we all looked on in amused disbelief.

Bobby patted the fuel tank affectionately. "My girl. She's never let me down. What else would you expect from a gift from my dad?" He twisted one hand-grip with a flashy jerk, causing the motorcycle to roar obnoxiously again. His heavy bandages were obscured underneath a thick biker jacket, his head enveloped in a gleaming black helmet with graceful styling. He set his combat-booted feet solidly on the ground, halting the progress of the mechanical deathtrap.

"That's what you were talking about? I thought you were reasonable," Reyna announced incredulously, her eyebrows shooting sky high.

"Better than us all packing off to Minnesota on a griffon, isn't it?" he parried sharply, catching my eye.

I smiled and shrugged. "Whatever man. It's cool. Hazel, you want to ride with him on that thing? Reyna looks like she going to rip it apart."

Hazel nodded quickly, oddly quiet. Maybe she was nervous for our quest, because it was unlike her to waste an opportunity for a sarcastic quip or enthusiastic battle-cry. She boarded the motorcycle, swinging a leg over the second seat, careful to avoid burning a hole in her jeans against the exhaust pipe. While Bobby helped her into biker gear and a helmet, I turned to the woods and whistled loudly. For a moment nothing happened, except for the other groups marching formally out the portcullis, vanishing beyond the barrier. Then a roaring bird-cry answered, and a tawny shape emerged, flapping, from the far depths of the wood.

Simba trotted to a halt on the cobblestones beside me. He nibbled my shoulder affectionately with his beak, then allowed me to board him. Reyna, however, he wasn't too sure about. "Come on, Simba, you have to let her on. She's really not that much more of a burden. Light as a feather. You've got plenty of those, so what's one more, huh?" After several minutes of coaxing, during which I fashioned another reasonable harness of rope, Simba allowed Reyna to board his back slowly. The process was so slow that it was amusing to watch. If she went any faster than snail sludge, he snapped his beak at her, so it looked like she was getting on behind me in super slow mo.

Hazel was laughing tightly while Reyna got situated, and Bobby was sniggering, but holding his side weakly. Once we were all seated, and practically the entire camp was snorting openly at us or rolling their eyes, we took off. Bobby revved his bike through the gates and onto the tunnel outside in less than a second. I followed, pulling gently onto the reigns. Simba answered energetically, springing from the ground and swooping powerfully through the barrier. He made many of the same dangerous, definitely unnecessary dives and tumbles he'd executed on my first ride, as if he were still trying to throw me off. He plunged low, trotting across the roof of a mortal car, which then swerved wildly and crashed into the cement divider.

"_That's enough,"_ I hissed angrily in his ear. The mortals didn't do anything to deserve getting hurt. His flight patterned steadied out, he apparently understanding that testing my patience was a bad plan.

We glided from the tunnel, tracking Bobby on his bike closely. Reyna's arms were wrapped like a vice around my core, her head buried into my back. I shifted uncomfortably, realizing that Annabeth would have my head for this, but Reyna didn't notice. I resigned myself to the idea that if Annabeth were lucky enough to randomly fly past me, that I'd be dead meat.

I watched Bobby as he swerved along the curve of the interstate, doing at least eighty in a sixty-five zone. He looked his age – that is, not old enough to bust a shining crimson Harley down the interstate without a license – Hazel clinging to his back for dear life. In a flash, I understood why she'd been so tense this morning. For all her bluster and hardcore attitude, she was afraid of motorcycles and Bobby's wild driving.

With I chuckle, I directed Simba to soar just above the speeding bike. When our shadow fell across his controls, the guy looked up quizzically. I mouthed clearly at him: _Speed limits? Try being discreet._ He grinned sheepishly and fell back, just as a cop motorcycle zoomed past to catch some psychopathic driver in a semi a mile ahead.

The next several hours passed in a blur of travel. While I swooped low occasionally to remind Bobby to limit his wild, flashy swerving, Reyna and I stayed high in the clouds for the most part. It was chilly and moist and unpleasant, visibility reduced to nearly nothing, the flight rockier than usual as Simba bucked against his reigns. Still, it kept us out of the mortal's vision, which I knew innately – and because of a voice booming _Mortals must not see you, my boy_ in my mind – was crucial to our success.

While somewhat jarred from receiving a god's advice like my mind was a radio (I had never viewed hearing voices in your head as a good thing), I followed the suggestion carefully, keeping as high out of sight of the interstate below as my freezing fingers could stand. The sky seemed ominous, the water of the brewing storm angrily latching onto my skin. For once, my powers didn't protect me from dampness. I was soaked through in minutes, and I could feel Reyna was too; when she reset her grip on my waist, the cool rainwater squelched between our clothes. That made me feel uncomfortable, but I didn't say anything against it. I focused on my willpower to resist the urge to hug Simba tightly around the neck the way Reyna gripped my torso. The clouds rumbled threateningly. I knew that the sky was not my domain: I needed to be on the ground to be out of danger.

The next time we edged below the clouds to check on the motorcycle, I seemed to stare down at the sky. I blinked several times and nudged Reyna awake, pointing down. An eternal expanse of blue sky and booming clouds glistened back at us, infinitely deep. When I was about to start freaking out, I saw a griffon reflected in the glassy surface, soaring upside down right below us. Then a highway materialized out of the salty lake water, and a small glint of red told me we were in the right place. We were passing the Great Salt Lake, Utah, one of the most perfectly reflective bodies of water in the world. With a slightly comforted sigh, I steered Simba upward into the clouds.

We didn't stop for lunch. The sun had risen above the clouds at noon and descended again, casting the clouds in a silver glow from below. My stomach started to growl, but I felt no hunger. I was too preoccupied with my need to get out of the sky. Instead of feeling famished, I felt the definite need to vomit. I wanted to fly straight into the Great Salt Lake, but I mastered the urge, continuing our smooth progress across the clouds for what felt like ages. It must have stayed in the sky far past noon.

By the time we landed at a gas station that evening (the mortals scattering unconsciously, distaste etched subtly in their expressions), my nerves were so far gone, that my relief to be on solid ground washed soothingly over me like the saltiest wave in the sea. Bobby and Hazel leapt off the steaming motorcycle, rubbing their thighs with grimaces. Reyna unhinged her arms from my chest, leaning away from me and looking just as uncomfortable as I felt, though I sensed her discomfort had more to do with me than the threatening clouds blooming into being above. The clouds seemed to be chasing us, which was impossible, of course. That didn't make me like it, though.

I got up and stretched expansively, then guided Simba to a small, slimy creek trickling past the truck stop. I left him there, his eyes watching me reproachfully, seeming to say, _This is the kind of water I get after hauling your sorry butt halfway across the country?_ But he ruffled his wings weakly and bent down to drink.

"How far did we go?" Reyna was asking. Bobby removed his helmet and scratched his head, blinking to adjust his eyes.

Hazel answered curtly, "We're just entered Wyoming. That's like, six hundred miles."

"Wait, how long have we been traveling?" Bobby said, pausing in his jacket adjustment and looking up, his eyes innocently wide.

"You were driving faster than you thought," Hazel answered bluntly, seeing through his question. "You drive like a maniac."

Bobby smirked his roguish grin, saying softly, "You tell me that every time, Haze."

"Because it's _true_ every time," she snapped, looking murderous. Bobby grinned provocatively, and I understood suddenly why he drove like a drunk ten year old.

"Hey, hey, calm down," I interceded, standing solidly between them. Hazel snarled, disgusted, and turned away in a huff, crossing her arms. "We need to get some lunch. I'm freaking starving." At this, Hazel and Bobby forgot their disagreement and fastened onto the mention of sustenance. Their hunger was palpable, like the air of starving wild dogs.

Reyna pulled off her backpack and rummaged in the contents. She hummed, "I've got the makings of gyros. Let's find a good spot to rest and eat," which I took to mean, _let's find someplace mortals won't find us_. She glanced meaningfully at Simba, who was approaching us regally through a tunnel of shifting mortals, his feathered head held high while he ignored the people staring uncomprehendingly at him. They must have thought he was some kind of pompous Amish buggy horse, or a really pretentious minivan.

I nodded at Reyna motioned for her to board the bird while I gathered up his reins. "You guys follow us. We have to find a better place to eat."

While Bobby and Hazel mounted the bike, I noticed the shopkeeper of the restaurant attached to the gas station glowering at me. He must have thought I was leaving because I thought his food wasn't any good. Which was true, given that it was sketchy gas station food in the nowhere-lands of Wyoming, but not really why we were leaving. I afforded the keeper a jaunty wave before taking off, bursting into the sky.

I say _bursting_ because the sky's wrath finally took form; instead of just following us in formidable silence, the air solidified into a wall, blocking our entrance into the higher atmosphere. Simba strained mightily against the currents that shoved his wings downward with massive force, until we broke through the barrier and into the clouds. At that point, I had no choice but to assume the gods were involved. Apparently, the Lord of the Sky did not want me in the sky. Or he just really, really didn't like me. Either way.

Reyna jerked her arms around me like steel vices, banding together across my stomach with crushing force. I wondered why, briefly, until the currents regained their intensity and blasted against our right flank. Simba faltered and sunk a few feet lower because of the gust. After the ephemeral minute of peace in the clouds, our presence was observed and attacked with a vengeance; we were buffeted in every direction, my griffon struggling valiantly against the malevolent winds to keep us aloft and still within the sights of our friends on the washed up backroads below. A foggy face materialized from the mist, half human, half devil. It made a sour expression at us and blasted us sideways several feet.

"_Venti!_ Wind spirits! We have to get out of the air!" Reyna screamed at me hollowly, contending with the howling winds.

_Not yet_, I thought determinedly. "Keep us up for a bit longer, Simba," I murmured, the sound unintelligible in the racket, then scanned the surrounding air for the wraithlike face. One appeared a few feet above me, its features sown together with misty air currents. "You seen any giants?" I bellowed over the wind.

A mad cackled emanated from the face, its expression contorted in a kind of ferocious delight. "Never!" It screeched, and head slammed Simba's neck. We twirled disconcertingly, the winds turning into vague shapes and colors for a moment. "No, I do not see the servants of Terra. I see only those who try to reach them. And I kill them!" The wraith stared at Reyna, then a look of dawning recognition swept across his features. He then laughed frantically again, shrieking, "You! Yes, I saw your little friend many weeks ago. Not so hot is he, now? Torn to bits, I think, electrocuted, smashed beneath the feet of Gigantes! Destroyed, yes, killed and squished and more!" More merry laughter. "Serves him right, that brat of Jove's, locking us all up, giving the keys to Aeolus, that nutty King. Serves him right!"

Reyna shrieked in horror at some realization I lacked. I ordered Simba to dive away from the attacking winds, jerking a little more roughly than necessary on the reins. He obliged, dropping from the clouds like a stone, aiming for the pavement of the highway. "No, go back, go back!" Reyna screamed, tugging on my hair viciously.

"They'll kill us!" I bellowed assertively, holding steady on the reins while Reyna snatched for them with her searching hands.

"We have to question them! We have to do something – no, go back, you idiot – " She commenced on a quest to rip every hair from my head. I grimaced, clenched my teeth, and leaned forward to aid our aerodynamics. The griffon escaped the grip of the wicked winds, pulling from his dive just above the highway, trotting two hooves on the smooth hot pavement before darting back into the air with a powerful wing stroke.

We coasted for a few minutes, searching for the shining motorcycle bearing our friends. Or at least, I was looking. Reyna was collapsed limply against my back, shaking with what I assumed were silent sobs. They slowed and eventually stopped, but she showed no signs of recovering anything resembling life. I glanced over my shoulder once to check on her, she was lying so lifelessly, and saw two closed eyes ringed in tears and furrowed skin, her lids clenched tight in internal pain. I didn't dare to see more. I had glimpsed enough to remind me of a huge pain inflected on me in my past life. Annabeth had been in danger. I saw a flash of her, exhausted and in pain, a shock of grey hair blossoming on her scalp, clouds looming like a solid mass above her outstretched arms, and my insides burned with agony. I flashed back to the present, staring determinedly at the road, scanning for the others, but my heart still throbbed with that recalled ache. I knew from one glance that Reyna felt the same way now that I had in seeing Annabeth in that state. _What would Reyna do to save Jason?_ I wondered. I knew, from seeing her eyebrows bent in that screaming expression, that internal hurt spreading across her face, that she would do anything. I had.

"Jason's alive," I murmured to her. While quiet, the statement was clear above the noise of the road and wind. She didn't respond. "I may not have ever known him, but I know you. And anyone who has earned _your_ respect has the skill to take down a hundred giants."

Two words floated towards me, nearly brushed aside by the wind. "I know."

We drifted along in silence until I made out the form of Bobby and Hazel speeding along the two-lane road. Simba swooped to them automatically, acting on his hours of experience earlier today. I called over the rushing wind, "Pull off at the next road!" Hazel nodded mutely, and I drove us back into the air.

When the road split, the red motorcycle raced down the more rural end, pulling into a shady wood. Simba dived smoothly of his own accord into the tunnel of trees, landing and trotting slowly along the pavement. He tucked his wings against his body as he jogged, which I took to mean as his statement against going any farther. Bobby pulled back, U-turning in the middle of the road, and drifted to a stop in front of us. He killed the engine, the noise dying, leaving us in an empty road in the middle of the woods.

"Lunch under the comfort of some trees?" Bobby proposed.

"I guess so," I said with a shrug. Though Hazel glanced curiously at Reyna for a moment, no one said anything more, so we turned into the darkness of the wooded area, leaving the road behind. Bobby found a protective, arching bough farther in, and parked his Harley underneath it. Reyna and I got off Simba, who promptly collapsed on the woody floor and fell asleep. We decided to make camp there.

Reyna immediately busied herself with preparing food. She set up a stone fire pit ringed with damp, rotting logs, lit the crisp shredded tinder with a match, and readied some pre-cooked lamb on a spit. Meanwhile, the rest of us sliced a portion of the trunk out of a fallen tree, using Bobby's conveniently flaming sword (another gift of his father's. When I asked, Hazel rolled her eyes while he impulsively twirled it proudly in a small but complex maneuver that was beyond me. He hacked through the tree easily – it practically melted away, its edges smoking). Then we hauled it back to camp, extinguishing the flames erupting on the end, and sat on it next to the blossoming fire pit. The lamb was already a glossy flushed brown, its juices dripping into the fire with squelching hisses. Reyna's face was clear of emotion, her tears dry and gone, but pinkish splotches crowded on her forehead and eyes to betray her. She was silent and lashed out furiously with a wooden meat fork whenever we tried to help her fix the cucumber sauce (Tzatziki. Don't ever ask me to pronounce that word again. It may be Greek, but that doesn't mean I want to say it more than once). Bobby seemed indifferent, watching the rustling leaves above, but Hazel watched with befuddled contemplation, finally looking to me with the question in her eyes, admitting defeat. She couldn't figure out Reyna, but then, I wasn't so sure I could either.

"All right, what happened?" Hazel demanded bluntly. She had no patience with theatrics.

Reyna's eyes took on the appearance of granite: dark, solid, regal, and cold. She set down the meat fork, stabbing it in the dirt, and crouched next the fire while she explained. "-and then this idiot," she finished, glancing at me with an unnerving lack of emotion, "pulled us away from the spirits that could've led us straight to him. Because I know Jason's too strong to be killed by a giant, whoever he was fighting would've had to capture him. We were _so close_," she murmured.

"You can't blame Percy, though," Bobby said, without glancing down from the leaves. We were so surprised to hear him playing the mediator, that we all listened in stunned quiet while he mulled it over. "You know as well as any of us that _venti_ are the lying scum of Jove's skivvies. You can't trust them."

Hazel chimed in, consoling, "You heard the Mercury reports, all sorts of spirits are escaping. He was probably just one of the _venti_ you captured last summer and he wanted to mess with you."

"Or kill you," Bobby said pensively, leaning back a little farther to see the higher canopy.

"Thanks, Captain Positive," Hazel said with a snort. We all laughed, even Reyna, though hers was quiet and somewhat flat. We had to. The alternative was to be struck by the reality of the words and scum up your own skivvies.

"Let eat," Reyna said with a faint smile, slicing into the delicately roasted meat and laying strips on emmer bread. We drowned the meat, tomatoes, onions, and bread in the cucumber sauce, wrapping it into a sloppy Roman version of a burrito and munching like carnivorous horses. All of us, except Bobby, were done in a few minutes. He was staring at the sky.

"Seri 'sly?" Hazel yelled at him through a mouthful of meaty goodness. "Drop the Cicero act and eat your gyro." Bobby shrugged and faced a dripping sandwich in his hands to chow down, but I had caught something in the way his eyes were squinted, the way his body was stacked defensively, the way his hands, full of emmer and meat, had drifted to his flaming coin sword clipped to his belt. There was something out there.

Reyna, who was looking marginally more reassured and cheerful, hadn't noticed. She made a second gyro and said with a happy sigh, "Man, I know I say this every time, but the Greeks got something right when they invented these."

I choked on my fifth bite of my second gyro. I chewed and swallowed quickly, to clear my mouth and say, "I thought the Greeks were worthless." It came out of his mouth as a question.

"Dear Mars, didn't they teach you anything where you came from?" Bobby said incredulously after a thick gulp. "They invented practically everything. They were geniuses."

"It was just easier for Rome to copy everything they did, because a lot of it was so brilliant. Don't get me wrong, we made some of our own stuff, but there was pretty much no way we could invent anything better than what they had. Except armies. When it came right down to it, our armies beat the snot out of theirs," Reyna said.

"That's not true," I blurted, before I could stop myself. Thirty seconds ago I had claimed that Greece sucked. Now I was defending them. Oh, gods. "Rome didn't crush Greece immediately. Besides, Greece only fell because of corruption of the government. It was weak already when the Germanic tribes attacked from the north, Turks from the east, and Rome from the west."

The three Romans stared at me. Bobby said slowly, "Uh, okay. If you say so, man. But I think your amnesia it messing with your history a little." He changed tack suddenly. "My gods! I _knew_ it!" He stuffed one end of his half-a-gyro in his mouth and rose to his feet, drawing his sword. He flipped it into a long, flaming weapon. The rest of us stood, scanning the sky like he was, drawing our weapons. Reyna's compound appeared from nowhere on my left and Hazel's sword poked at my peripheral vision to the right. The sky was an empty, innocent blue behind the leaves.

"Okay, I give up," I said. "What are we supposed to be seeing?"

"I swear, there's something up there," he mumbled through his dripping gyro. He chewed quickly and swallowed, while I scanned the sky and trees. A rustling shadow caught my attention just to the north, and I swiveled to face it. It was already gone. We circled up unconsciously, protecting our backs against each other.

A form dropped from the branches in front of me. The others didn't break form while I charged the _dracaenae_. The snake-woman slithered towards me, hissing menacingly and drawing twin swords. Without worrying for my safety, I sliced through her abdomen, cutting off her weird, squirming, trunk-like snake legs and watching her explode into powder.

The next few minutes passed in the crashing blur that it always did: reliant on reflexes and deeply engrained sword maneuvers only, my mind flying into hyper drive and analyzing the best attack patterns to chop up the enemy, everything non-essential fading into nonbeing while the battlefield became intensely clear and sharp. It was a whole horde of wild _dracaenae_, leaping with strange dexterity from the trees. How they managed it with serpent tails for legs, I'll never know. Regardless, the herd was like a virus; every time you cut down one, another would appear. I covered my side of the field, wiping out all the monsters that ran at me, then went to help Hazel, who was struggling to keep up. Reyna was behind Bobby, sniping snake-women with imperial gold arrows from an un-empty-able quiver, so he was able to deal with the onslaught pretty well. But Hazel was fending for herself against the same number of monsters. I rushed to her side and we fought together, me guarding the points weakest in her defense while she advanced into the masses.

It came on slowly, but I could tell each of us felt it: a shimmer in the air, a hazy fog in our thoughts. My vision took on a lurid tint while I became more and more frustrated and angry. My strokes gained power, Hazel attacked faster – a horrible snarl blossoming on her sweet face, Reyna yanked with more force than necessary on her bowstring, flinging arrows vengefully into the faces of the approaching _dracaenae_; Bobby was the sole calm soul, his mouth set in a stiff line of concentration disproportionate to the effort required for sword fighting. We started to utterly destroy the enemy, the evil, the horrors of our past – the snake-women began to morph in my eyes into the face of a handsome college guy with molten gold eyes laughing at me derisively. The echoes of his voice resounded in my ears, and I forced the _dracaenae_ back, roaring in my rage. A few took the forms of Ares, as I remembered him, his brutal complexion glaring at me, his eye sockets pits of fire, his mouth set hard. I took particular joy in slicing through those _dracaenae_. I covered Hazel's weak points with an out-of-body ferocity, protecting her from every attack while trying my hardest not to obstruct her furious swipes at snake-women.

When a lone _dracaenae_ was the only threat to us, suddenly the fire died out of me. The clearing in the woods swung back into focus, and the rage that had consumed me dissipated without warning. I shook my head experimentally and blinked, confused. I saw Ares face just as clearly in my mind as if he'd actually been there – and was abruptly reminded of Bobby expression in the battle.

They were identical. Bobby had been using the magic of his ancestry.

"That was surreal," I commented, my inflection making it sound almost like a complaint.

"Sorry, I forgot you didn't know my power. I should've told you before we went on the mission," he said apologetically, ruffling his hair and flipping his sword. He caught the coin, stuffed it in his pocket, surveying the damage of the battlefield that was our campsite. The fire had been trampled into nonexistence, the log decimated, our packs brushed carelessly against trees. The dirt and leaf floor was covered in a thick layer of monster ash, making it seem like we were walking on a lake of gold. It glinted in the dappled light of the sunset. After a moment of pause, Bobby looked to the remaining _dracaenae_. It measured us in its slimy eyes, watching our progress in surveying the damage.

"Why didn't we kill that one?" Hazel asked, shaking her head to clear it. She knew Bobby's magic, but it didn't make her immune to the effects. She still had to refresh her vague memory like the rest of us.

"It'll have information," Reyna said simply. She watched, unsurprised, while Bobby bowed his head in concentration and the rest of us stood around awkwardly.

The _dracaenae_ seemed to understand something bad was going to happen, because it cowered, but didn't move. I thought that was strange, but didn't have time to mull it over. A brobdingnagian voice, powerful like a god's, a roar, a rumble, a sheer blast of power from the earth, shook through the clearing, pressing like a physical force against the demon. _"Who do you work for?"_

The demon squealed in a manner most unimpressive and shrieked, "I sssshould ssssshow you, if you jussssst let me!"

"_You WILL show us?"_

"Of courssssse, you idiot, you fool, I wassss going to in the firsssst place!"

The pressure in the air popped and the voice was gone. Bobby looked up and demanded, "Take us to your leader," with a wink at us. The demon crouched forward in a snakelike slink, inviting us to follow. We did, from a safe distance behind, in case she set up an ambush. Simba had woken in the battle and decided to follow us and the demon.

"'_Take me to your leader'?_ 'Who do you work for?' Really? Are you _trying_ to copy every bad movie ever made?" I asked Bobby in a exasperated whisper.

"Meh, it sounded good, didn't it?" he said with a grin and a shrug. "Got her talking."

"She said she was going to help us in the first place, and you could see it in her eyes," Hazel said offhandedly, unimpressed and clearing dust from under her fingernails. Reyna just listened, smiling.

We walked for ten minutes through brambles and ferns, doing the limbo under downed trees in our path, just to ease the tension. Reyna pulled off a magnificently low move, practically bending her entire body at a right angle at the knees and inching under a two foot high branch. We applauded enthusiastically while she took several playful bows, grinning widely. She was back to her usual personality, unaffected by the incident in the sky earlier. I was glad to see it.

When we cheered Hazel through an awesome limbo of a three foot high branch, the _dracaenae_ hissed angrily, "Sssssilence, foolssss, you don't want her to think you are as sssstupid as you are." We must be close. We stuck close to the demon, scanning the surrounding woods for some sign of a dwelling. I didn't see anything but indiscriminate woods. A chipmunk fled before us, the demon unnerving it.

When I least expected it, the snake-woman stopped. She put her hand against a small rise next the trail and pushed, revealing a solid, circular door nearly three feet in diameter. "Inssssside, ssssshe waitssss." She motioned us in, then wandered away, not bothering to close the door. I led the way, descending a narrow, steep flight of stone steps into an underground cavern. Simba stayed outside, watching us with reproachful eyes.

I descended the staircase carefully, my hand against the low ceiling and my griffon's eyes boring into my back. The tunnel widened into a room, the stairs smoothing in a mini-ramp into the solid clay floor. If I hadn't just come in through the door, I wouldn't have known that it was underground: It was a capacious room, light and airy, a vine-smothered skylight providing golden light in the room. Additional industrial lighting lined the room along the crevice between the ceiling and walls. Shelves of wooden kitchen implements sat humbly against the far side of the room, a small twin bed nestled against the near wall to the right, and a mini-living room of a tattered couch, wireless box TV, and several broken-in armchairs dominated the left half of the room. Thick, loose carpeting squished under my shoes. It was possibly the most humble, cozy home I'd ever been in. A flash of a memory struck me – an apartment in New York, my gentle mother studying notes of some kind with a squirrelly scholar-type – and bitterness stung my tongue. I blinked the memory away, aware of my teammates behind me and the mysterious leader of a _dracaenae_ herd reading a book cross-legged in an armchair.

She couldn't be any older than thirteen. Her plain, glossy brown hair cascaded to her mid-back, unadorned but somehow pretty in its simplicity. Her skin was pale – _unhealthy_ pale – but her expression was serene. She dressed in a shapeless pink t-shirt, khaki pants, and smooth suede slides with black socks. She was an unimposing figure, calm, with the radiant aura of a college student. Her intelligence exuded from her every pore.

She looked up with a vague smile upon our entrance, like we were long-lost friends. "Welcome. I have not hosted visitors for a long time, but you seemed to be… perfect."

I couldn't tell what she meant by that, but I knew she'd been preparing for an encounter like this for a long time. Longer than her apparent age allowed. I knew, deep down, that a situation like this wasn't good, especially the creepy comment part, so I stayed on my guard.

"My name is Megara. I can tell, we will be excellent friends. Please, sit." While she bookmarked her page, we all gathered together on the couch, sitting uncomfortably close to each other, practically overlapping our legs. "Really, there's no need for that," she insisted, and pulled Bobby by the arm to another armchair while the rest of us remained stuck in the couch. The likelihood of Megara being an evil witch, demoness, or malevolent goddess was increasing by the second. She definitely wasn't human. No human actually tried to make their guests comfortable.

"Uh, hi," Bobby said quizzically, a thousand questions laced in his uncertainty.

The girl laughed breezily and nodded, murmuring, "Definitely the ones." Then she said, "Well, nice to meet you. You must have questions, so I will try to answer as many as possible right now. I saw you tramping through my woods with that massive griffon of yours – wherever did you find one so large? In my days of experience, they were half that size – and silly metal contraption, and I thought I would test you. You see, mortals these days cannot understand the world as it is. They have lost the faith in it, and thus it no longer allows them to see truth. So I knew you could not be mortals, as you rode the griffon. I sent my many followers, the _dracaenae_ – they have been loyal to me for many years, though last summer and the spring before it, they seemed distracted and would not respond to me – to test your skills in battle. If sufficient, Alexia was to bring you here, as she did. I have been hiding for many years – years beyond counting. I wished to rejoin the world. It may have changed drastically, but I am sick of hiding."

"How old are you?" Bobby asked without tact.

Normally, a woman would respond violently to such a question. Megara merely looked slightly pensive. "Well, that's interesting. What millennium are we in?"

Bobby was stunned silent, and I answered, "Two thousand AD."

She smiled and said offhandedly, "Then I suppose I am roughly three thousand years old."

We didn't know how to answer. At least, I didn't. Reyna asked respectfully, "Why do you want to travel with us? You don't know where we're going."

"It is not a matter of where we're going," she said sweetly. I noted the use of the world 'we'. She was already set on coming, whether we liked it or not. "I want to see the world. I don't wish to be pushed into hiding by that pig, Apollo, any longer."

Reyna's respect dissipated fast. "Apollo is my father!" she shouted, standing.

"Well I'm sorry to upset you, my dear," Megara said with genuine apology. Reyna accepted it and sat slowly, keeping her eyes locked with faint distaste on the other girl's form. "But the gods are imperfect. They have their faults. I am Apollo's fault. He won't let history die…" She sounded so wistful, I actually sighed. I would have been embarrassed, but I wasn't the only one enraptured by her genuine emotions.

"Who are you?" I asked. There was history behind her, I knew it.

"I told you, I am Megara. You may call me Meg, if you wish. But that is the end of that matter." Her tone implied she would reveal nothing else.

"All right, then!" Hazel said, rising to her feet and clapping decisively. "We could use a place to stay for tonight, because I really don't want to camp outside if we don't have to. Plus, we could use a little dinner."

I almost objected, thinking of the gyros we'd already eaten, but I saw the glint in Hazel's eyes. She was still hungry. Now that I thought about it, so was I. "I can make something quick and easy, and you can sleep here for tonight. We'll set off in the morning," Meg said cheerfully. Already, her English, so elaborate and formal to begin with, had begun to morph to our modern dialect.

Meg clipped swiftly to the kitchen and assembled a legion of raw ingredients in under a minute. The rest of us pulled out our smaller-than-a-rabbit-ultra-mini-lightweight-super-micro-stuff-bag sleeping rolls and laid them out in the middle of Meg's house. We sat on our "beds", rooting through our packs to take stock of our supplies for the rest of the mission. That done, Reyna and Bobby used their bags as pillows and passed out, Hazel started carving a wooden harmonica (don't ask me how that works), and I stared through the skylight.

The skylight dark with the colors of twilight now; vines and ferns dripping shadows into the scattered light of the room. A light patter of rain dribbled onto the glass, cool air rustling down the staircase to brush away the accumulating steam from the active kitchen. I sat there, thinking about Annabeth, my hand rummaging through the clay beads chilling against my shirt. The rain, and the darkness, and the breeze had triggered the new memory.

* * *

><p>Annabeth's fingers twisted through mine, her palm and forearm pressed against mine. The waves of the Atlantic played at our feet, sand softly pressing against our legs and free hands. The rain puttered down, but nothing touched us. We sat Camp Half-Blood's beach, alone and happy, the rest of the camp gone on a night trip to the Ancient Greece History Museum to troll on tour guides, telling them the true story of certain "myths". Annabeth's notes for Mount Olympus sat forgotten to her other side, Daedelus's laptop whirring dejectedly next to them. Annabeth leaned her head against my shoulder and sighed softly.<p>

"What?" I asked her.

"Nothing." Her voice was warm, like fresh baked bread.

"C'mon," I chastised her.

I felt her jaw move against my shoulder as she smiled. "I just thought, we have the rest of our lives to be together. No more insane prophecies for us."

My memory self sighed too, content and relaxed, yet excited at the idea of a life with Annabeth. "True." My voice was uncharacteristically smooth and affectionate. For some reason, I thought of a solid architectural structure, Annabeth and I working on it together.

The sea breeze blew back my hair and made me blink to keep sand out of my eyes. When I opened my eyes, a form of shifting sand stood before us, her arms crossed and face serious. "Annabeth Chase, Juniper wishes to see you," the naiad said in a crackly voice. We both started to stand, not once losing our grip on the other's fingers. "No, Perseus Jackson. Just Annabeth," the naiad said, her voice pushing me down. A tingle started in the base of my spine, a nervous prickle, a warning, but I bit it down. Juniper and Annabeth were good friends. There was no reason to worry.

"Okay," I said, my tone of voice back to its brusque usual, and I sat down. It pained me to remove my fingers from Annabeth's hands. My palm felt bare and cold without her. I could see the same feeling in her eyes as she finished standing and brushed the sand from her butt. "I'll be here when you get back."

Annabeth nodded, said in her usual sly tones, "Don't go on a midnight swim without me, Seaweed Brain," and trotted off to the woods.

Unlike what I expected, the sea naiad didn't disappear into the rocky, sandy shore from which it came. It stood there, glaring down at me regally, until Annabeth was out of sight. Then, sand blasted everywhere, erupting from the skin of the naiad, to reveal the glowering form of Hera. She didn't look pleased. "I'm sorry if I offended you Lady Hera," I said immediately, though I had no idea what I could've done.

Hera shook her head, a new look taking over her eyes and the set of her lips. "There's nothing wrong with you, Percy." I took that to mean, _"It's Annabeth that's the problem,"_ and reacted appropriately, shooting to my feet and drawing Riptide.

"There's nothing wrong with Annabeth either." Hera was sizing me up gravely, her lips twisted into a frown. My mind started to weaken and fade. I suddenly couldn't remember where I was. My family – Paul, Mom, Tyson, Poseidon – started to blank from my mind, leaving holes in my memory. _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth_, my mind plugged along, refusing to let her name fade. The black hole in the back of my head sucked up her face, her laugh, her personality, robbing me of everything but the pounding beat of _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth, _until my own name deserted me, leaving me with only one word.

_Annabeth._

"It's me, Percy. There's something wrong with _me_." But as I blacked out, the words meant nothing to me, nor did the expression the goddess wore. It was regret.

* * *

><p>I knew now who it was that had wiped my mind. Who it was that had messed up my entire life. Hera, goddess of marriage, sister and wife of Zeus. I couldn't fathom her reasons, but I knew her identity. Still, I couldn't be sure until I knew which god or goddess had created Python. Then I could be certain. I rolled the black bead with green lettering between two fingers of my right hand, feeling the Braille-like rises on the smoothness of the clay. I felt like I should know why I had this bead…<p>

"_Percy,"_ Reyna snapped. I popped back into reality and looked around, wondering what was going on.

"Huh?" I decided to say, feigning innocence.

Meg had served our second dinner, offering us each a plate of tilapia fillet with vegetables. Hazel was done eating already, turning back to her carving, Bobby was shoveling steamed broccoli in his mouth and glancing discreetly at me, and Reyna was staring at me like I was dying. Meg picked serenely at her tilapia, unconcerned with my state. "Did you remember something?" Reyna asked gently.

"Yeah," I said, but I didn't really want to talk about it. I said quickly, "But I was just thinking…What if we don't make it to Minnesota in time?"

Reyna could tell I was lying, but Bobby said, muffled, "Well, at this rate, we'll be there in two days…" and he went on about our progress and tried to plan how to find the rising point of the giants.

"We might not have two days," Hazel cut in. "Hyllon wasn't exactly specific on telling us the time that they would rise, but we have to assume that its faster than we can get there easily."

"We can check on your destination, if you'd like," Meg said quietly. We all looked at her. She shrugged, as she'd seen us do several times, and motioned one hand vaguely over her shoulder. A cloud materialized in the air and floated into her lap. She waved her hands through it, and the vapor reacted, shaping as her hands moved. Soon it was in the form of a compacted disc of milky vapor. She tapped the surface and it rippled, reforming into a glassy screen that showed a picture of an open stretch of ground. It was surrounded by mountains of snow and the edge of a lake, barely visible through the woods and a downward slope. In the center of the clearing, two small mounds of earth poked through the top of the three-feet of snow, looking totally innocuous; the little piles of dirt didn't betray the fact that they carried two of the most dangerous beings to exist in this millennium, who both wanted to rip the fabric of the universe apart and destroy the gods. For now, they were just two muddy molehills.

"May I ask what your quest is?" Meg asked, intrigued.

"Well…" Bobby started, looking at me. I nodded, and he said, "The giants are rising to destroy the gods. We're supposed to stop them."

For once, Meg looked shocked. "That's preposterous! How do your leaders honestly expect you to achieve such a thing? The Gigantes are massive, super powerful brutes that nearly killed the gods the last time they rose! _Demigods_, sent to destroy _Gigantes…_ My gods, I'll tell you, the world has grown to be a strange place in my absence…" Her English slipped back into its older form as she frothed, furious."I suppose Chiron sent you? That old horse, he used to be _wise…_This is ridiculous."

The others were confused, but I had remembered my old teacher at the mention of his name. "Uh, I've never met Chiron. He died when he sacrificed his life to save Prometheus from the eagle eating his liver. We were sent here by Lupa," said Reyna.

"Oh," Meg said, her eyes widening. Then she recovered her poise and went on, "Of course, of course, it would be Lupa. She took over from Chiron ages ago. I must have forgotten…" The others believed her implicitly. I knew she knew the truth, because I had just realized that I came from a whole camp of Greeks. Chiron wasn't just my trainer, he was a trainer of all demigods. Meg could tell that she didn't have me convinced, but she went on, "Regardless, this que- mission is far beyond you. I discourage you from continuing."

"We can't go back unless we've tried," Hazel said frostily.

Meg didn't look happy about it, but she swallowed our determination and nodded. "Fine. It's your choice. I will accompany you on your journey. I take it we're going after Gration and Damysos? They are the only two Gigantes that rise together."

Reyna nodded. "We don't know how we're going to kill them, but the first step is to get there before they rise. After that, we know we can't do anything."

"At least Lupa had the sense to tell you that," Meg muttered bitterly. "Anyway," she continued brightly, "let's worry about that in the morning. We'll need a good night of sleep to travel far tomorrow."

Hazel stuffed her carving into her pack and wrist-flicked her knife closed. "First, we should tell some stories. Then everybody will sleep better." Bobby chuckled and settled into a cross-legged position, apparently expecting nothing less from Hazel.

"Very well," Meg said somewhat formally. She conjured another cloud, and formed it into a large, shallow bowl. When she tapped its surface, it formed into a thin pewter disk the size of a car tire and dropped onto the floor in the center of our circle. Meg drew a thin vial of dust from her pocket and threw it into the disk, where it exploded into a set of flames; the flames fed off nothing, exuding warmth and reaching towards the skylight above. Meg mimed a push at the glass, which then burst open, swinging wide and blasting the vines and ferns away. "Can't tell stories without a campfire," she said somewhat hazily.

The flickering tongues of fire set a strange mood that hadn't existed a few moments ago: it was one of mystery and anonymity, making anything we said in front of it five times more frightening and memorable, but the speaker completely enshrouded in secrecy. A brisk wind of cool air dropped from the open skylight, stray dew and rain drops falling below occasionally. The fire countered the chill with equal vigor, exuding an aura of stinging heat.

The night was darker than it had seemed only moments ago, throwing the faces closest to the fire in sharp relief. Hazel's voice floated into the light of the flames, but it was almost hard to tell who was speaking. Tales of frightening beasts, the accomplishments of Hercules, the years of hopelessness under the reign of the Titans twisted around us, worming into the back of our brains. For no apparent reason, the night became foreboding, every shadow frightening and foreign. The Titans seemed to loom out of the darkness, reaching towards the flames and attempting to extinguish them. After nearly an hour, Hazel's voice stopped, leaving the air open and intimidating in every respect. Then a new voice picked up Hazel's slack, and it took me a moment to recognize it. Meg.

"There was once a brave young god. He stole the world from the Titans, forcing them into submission in Tartarus, slamming the gate on them forever. This god was Jupiter. He assigned the realms of the world to each of the gods, saving the best three for himself and his brothers. For eons, the gods were happy. Jove married his sister Juno, and they had two children, Mars and Vulcan. For some reason, neither young god pleased Jove, so he searched for a different goddess with which to have children. He chose Latona, goddess of wildlife, and she bore him a set of twins. However, before the children were born, he fled, fearing Juno's wrath. Juno's wrath was mighty indeed; when she discovered Jove's unfaithfulness, she devised and evil plan to punish Latona and her children. On the day of the twin's birth, she sent a powerful snake of her own creation to destroy them. Somehow, through a feat of miraculous strength, the baby boy managed to slay the beast and protect his younger sister.

"Juno's plan had failed. To further her vengeance, she played upon the Latona's son's weakness: his desire to protect all beautiful, independent women. Juno created a young maiden from a lark, making the lady beautiful in a plain sort of way and giving her a remarkable strength of personality. When Juno saw the god coming, she dropped the maiden off a steep cliff, which ended in the sea below. The naïve god, upon seeing the girl dropping to her doom, saved her life. Immediately smitten with the girl, he attempted to woo her without success. She spurned him for years, running from his presence and hiding in the most obscure places of the earth. She grew old in this manner, forever running from the god, until her death. The god was crushed, his heart broken."

There was a chilly silence, in which the stars twinkled with mute cheeriness above.

"What a horrible way to live," Hazel said quietly.

"Indeed," Meg agreed, a grimace in her voice. Without any further conversation, we unanimously decided it was time to sleep. We each laid down, consumed by a nameless fear of the dark and our own thoughts. I fell asleep almost instantly.


	6. Six: Fortune's Wheel

**Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book **_**The Lost Hero**_** and the first published chapter of the actual **_**The Son of Neptune**_**; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Fortune's Wheel<strong>

My dreams were fractured that night. My mind was like a pane of glass smacked with a mallet; split into dozens of jagged shards held together by the pressure of the whole sheet, but impossible to mend together again. As I skipped between memories haphazardly, I tried desperately to make sense of them.

The storm of memories started with innocent similarity to my life. I was in an underground cavern, breathing in the thick, recycled air in deep sighs. The cavern was different in that the sides were of jagged rock, not clay, and covered in shining crystals. Gems of varieties I had never even heard described littered the stalactites. The floor of the cavern, through which a gentle brook gushed, was covered with a cushiony layer of moss. Plants crept up the glinting walls, using stalactites and stalagmites as arbors. Extinct creatures of every description mulled around the center of the cavern, huddled concernedly near a low, ornamented bed. A mastodon shared an anxious glance with me, then motioned its trunk back to the bed. My friends –Annabeth; a young, curly-horned satyr; a girl with frizzy red hair, tears in her jeans and in her eyes; a huge, soft-looking kid with only one eye – and I inched closer to the bed. We came into view of the creature laying upon it (which was the most tired, old, and translucent satyr I had ever seen), just in time for my dream to splinter and disappear. Before my next dream came into view, I felt a sting of sadness. The words _The great god Pan is dead_ tolled morosely in my mind.

When the dreamscape finished swirling and colors settled into forms, I surveyed my surroundings; at least, I looked at them as best I could from lying prone on the sandy beach. I was on a tropical island in a body of water foreign to me; my internal compass had no idea where I was. That feeling, paired with the darkness of the sky and exoticness of the constellations left me with the distinct impression that I was more trapped than I had been in the cave. Sea breeze twirled through my hair, placing a light deposit of sand in my eyes and nose. I coughed, making an effort to sit up, but realizing I was even more trapped than I had originally realized. My body wouldn't respond to my thoughts, the muscle fibers and bones broken and torn beyond the boundaries of simple exhaustion. A beautiful girl, agelessly young, was watching over me and singing a magical healing tune. Pain that I hadn't noticed before began to fade. A silver flower glowed faintly in her hair: _moonlace._ My mind leaped; Ogygia, the island of Calypso, the cursed maiden, giver of the moonlace flower; her soul trapped in an unplottable land for eternity, completely alone, except for rare lovers who must always leave. But as the pain began to fade, so too did my consciousness, and I landed in a place not so different than Ogygia, Calypso's hymn ringing in my ears.

I was on an island again. Except this time, the island was about two hundred yards away, separated by a stretch of choppy water. I noticed I was paddling for my life: _away_ from shore. I took me a moment to understand why. A giant Cyclops – blind, battle worn, and bellowing like the Erymanthian boar – danced an irritated jig on the shore as he hefted a boulder in hand. I shot through the water, parting currents and guiding them to aid my progress. A younger Cyclops, the same one as before, was lagging behind me slightly, having just escaped the blind Polyphemus. Before I knew what I was saying, a shout tore through my throat. _"Come on, Tyson!"_

The gentle Cyclops doubled his speed, darting through the water like aerodynamics weren't a problem. _"I am coming, Percy!" _He answered in my head. I had forgotten sons of Poseidon shared that ability; I felt a surge of familial love when I remembered Tyson was my brother.

Just when I thought we were home free, one of Polyphemus' boulders sailed over our heads and destroyed the ancient pirate vessel we'd been swimming towards. The rotted wood collapsed and sunk, sucking down the surrounding water, which, unfortunately, included us. I dove under the waves, my eyes peeled wide. I chased a shimmering bronze pelt into the depths, forcing the currents to my will.

I was still focusing hard of moving currents and an unexplainable urge to catch the pelt when I was supplanted in a completely different dream. The change was abrupt and vivid, unlike the lucid flow of my several other dreams. One moment I was a hundred feet underwater, the next I was standing in a strawberry field, facing a satyr.

And not just any satyr. It was the same one from the memory of Pan's death. For some reason, his face made me think of chicken cheese enchiladas. He was in deep concentration, chewing absently on something that looked suspiciously like the shards of a tin can. He was wringing his hands forcefully and trotting back and forth on his shaggy legs. The satyr's name popped into my head (to which I sort of thought, _Well, finally. Your face and voice have been nagging me for three months, and I get to know who you are _now_?_)

"Grover?" I asked cautiously.

His expression switched like a light. "Perrrrrrcy!" He cried excitedly. He did a little tap dance, or at least, he got as close as he could with cloven hooves. "Can you hear me?" His voice was obnoxiously loud, rattling in my head with unnecessary volume.

I winced a bit. "Uh, yeah. Calm down. Jeez."

"Sorry, I've just been trying to get through to you for so long –"

"Wait, that was _you_ in my other dreams?" I sighed inwardly, a little chagrined and a lot resigned to my faulty memory. "Sorry, man. Must have been the amnesia. My head's been a little messed up recently."

"A _little_?" Grover laughed, an expression of pure happiness lighting up his face. "From what Annabeth says, you should have no memories at all. It's amazing you know who I am!"

_Oh gods. Annabeth._ "Wait," I said, dawning on a belated realization. "How did Annabeth know that I was going to have amnesia?"

Grover shifted a little uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Uh, well, we can talk about that later. It's kind of a long story. But have you found the Roman camp?"

I was surprised. "How do you know about legion camp?" I wondered aloud. I guessed the answer from his expression. "Fine, fine. Another long story. Yeah, I found it, all right. I'm actually on a mission for them right now-"

"Mission? Don't you mean quest?"

I sighed. "Fine. Quest. We're out in Wyoming."

Grover finally looked completely confounded. "What in the name of the Kindly Ones are you doing out in Wyoming? The only things out there are some minor gods and annoying wind spirits."

"Tell me about it," I said with an eye roll. "Those _venti_ are something else. We're on our way to Minnesota. Gonna kick some giant butt."

"Wh- wait, you're going after _giants?_ As a _quest?_" He sounded like I had just shot him in the chest.

"Yeah," I said slowly, measuring his response. I could tell he was hiding his concern. "We've been assigned to kill Gration. I don't know if we'll make it in time, though…"

Our communication channel was weakening. Grover was squinting and leaning forward to try and understand me, and I could hear my voice crackling a lot more than what it felt like in my throat.

"You better be alive when we come to get you," I thought I heard Grover say earnestly.

"Come to get me?" I asked.

He shook his head and said with underwater-like slowness, "Connection's bad. The – between – camps – prevents communica –"

The dream fizzled out to black. I woke up with a jolt, swinging into an electrified sitting position. My back was ramrod straight, my sleeping bag tangled in a thick knot, and everyone else still sleeping soundly in the early morning. Dawn still hadn't hit yet. Apparently Apollo wasn't as anxious to chase us awake as he'd been to find the maiden Meg mentioned. I shook my head and started packing my stuff, moving quietly to let the others sleep.

So silently the music of crickets was louder that the rustle it made, Bobby sat up in the darkness. He blinked at me, totally alert and awake, as though he'd never been asleep. His eyes shone through the darkness, clear but guarded.

"Morning," he whispered.

"Morning," I answered quietly, still privately wondering why he wasn't asleep. I said somewhat ironically, "Couldn't sleep either?" remembering the night before my challenge at camp.

He smiled slowly, his lips spreading weakly across his face. "Nah. Dreams." But the way he said it caught my attention. It was a lie.

* * *

><p>Jason was tired of feeling constantly unsure. He had led his friends on a quest to save Hera, and they all got back alive; but somehow he couldn't shake the feeling that all was not well. His most pressing issue was the obvious one: if he couldn't fly the ship, the entire quest to save the world was doomed. In his concern over the matter, he found himself absently levitating instead of walking, hovering a few feet above the ground as gentle winds lifted his body and propelled it across the plains of camp.<p>

It annoyed Piper to no end. Her more aggressive side appeared every once in a while to shout him down from the sky to walk "like a normal person". Though "normalcy" for a demigod was a difficult thing to define.

At the moment he was hovering in a cross-legged position near the outside of Bunker Nine, thinking hard about the quest to come. The rest of the camp was out participating in the usual camp activities, Annabeth having allowed a day of rest from the constant ship-building effort. The relaxation of hacking through monster dummies was a relief they all needed; except Jason. He thought hard every chance he got about the Roman camp – "legion camp", he remembered – and tried to dredge up his sluggish memories. A full day devoted to this task was just what he needed – every day they spent building the ship, shouted orders and busy messengers bussing through the Bunker, he was interrupted just before reaching some monumental idea in his musings.

After several minutes of silent thought, he sat up abruptly, coming out of his concentration. He knew where to get into the camp! There was a portal underneath the Golden Gate Bridge they could steer the ship through to get the entire boat into legion camp. It would place them in the middle of the lake. He felt suddenly proud of this thought, having remembered it all on his own (sometimes, Hera gave him a memory back on one of her oddly numerous visits to Bunker Nine). The knowledge also emboldened him with some confidence, knowing that in time, it really would all come back.

But unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted for what seemed like the thousandth time. Leo bounded into the wood on his left, trotting towards the Bunker with his trusty tool belt slinging side to side on his waist.

"'Sup, man?" Leo asked breathlessly. "I was looking all over for you. One of the satyrs called the council."

Jason dropped to his feet, the winds falling out from underneath him. He thought he knew where this was going. "Grover?"

Leo scratched his head abashedly, muttering, "Dude, you know I'm bad with names –"

"Whatever." Together, they jogged back to camp, dodging the spewed venom of a Corinthian viper and jumping around one of the rusted dragon traps the Hephaestus cabin had yet to retrieve. "You guys should really get those things cleared up," Jason said slowly, knowing that dragon talk was dangerous with Leo. "Seeing as there's no… uh… rampant machines you're trying to catch."

As he expected, Leo's mouth dropped into a dangerously blank line. "Yeah, you don't need to remind me." They left it at that. Leo absently pulled a mint out of the tool belt and popped it in his mouth. He'd started doing that more recently since Festus had gone down. Jason thought it had something to do with all the times he'd worked on the dragon while sucking on the mints.

When they finally got back to camp five minutes later, the counselor headquarters (aka, the Big House rec room) was full of demigods, not all of them cabin leaders. Several naiads were there, struggling to stay in their watery forms and looking very concerned. Several dryads were there as well, including one he had met a few weeks ago named Juniper. Jason wasn't surprised to see her hovering behind Grover, who was at the head of the ping pong table. In addition to Grover, two older satyrs were squeezed into the back corner, grumbling about "lack of respect" or something or other. Tyson, Percy Jackson's younger half-brother, stooped against the far wall, trying to take up as little space as possible with his hulking form. He was fiddling with a few metal pieces, discreetly turning them over in his hands and rearranging them. Jason saw several older campers that weren't counselors hiding behind their cabin leaders, hoping to get away with being present at the meeting.

Everyone was tense and ready to start. There was much less frivolity than the last time he'd been in here. He abruptly felt guilty for being late and holding everyone up.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and scooted towards Piper, who welcomed him openly to a seat on her right.

"Sit down," Annabeth said, completely without inflection. He saw something in her eyes that – for some unexplainable reason – made him believe this meeting would yield good news. Very good news.

Grover nervously stroked his soul patch, shifting from hoof to hoof as he waited for everyone to settle down. "Uh…" he said quietly.

"Speak up," Annabeth hissed in his ear.

He did. "Uh, hi. I've called the council."

"We know," Clarisse said disinterestedly, cleaning her teeth with a dagger. "Why?"

"I finally got through to Percy."

The faint hum of conversation in the air died down completely. Then Clarisse dismissed his proclamation. "You said that a week ago. But all you did was see a picture of him looking stupidly at you – which he does all the time – in what might have been just a dream. How can you tell the difference between dreams and the empathy link?"

Jason was surprised to see Grover inflate like an angered cat rather than back down like he'd come to expect of the young satyr. Grover adopted an uncharacteristically fearsome glare. "For starters," Grover said boldly, his voice ringing over the disquieted murmuring in the room, "he spoke to me." Everyone's mouths fell open at that. Annabeth leaned forward, ready to hear Percy's words. But first, Grover finished his thought, berating Clarisse. "Second, it was _him_, all right? I think I know who my best friend is. _Third_, I'm a satyr, so I can say I know a fair amount more nature magic than you, little miss I-hack-people-up-for-fun."

Everyone cheered at that, leaving Clarisse looking stricken. She growled and twirled her dagger menacingly, but kept her mouth firmly closed.

"What'd Percy say?" called out an unnamed voice from the back. The air was charged with excitement.

"He said he's fine," Grover said with a smile. "His amnesia is healing, he knew who I was, and he's was at the Roman camp for a bit, but they sent him on a quest straightaway – "

"Typical," Chiron snorted under his breath. "Send a new arrival off on a mission immediately. Very Lupa."

"- to kill a giant."

Instant pandemonium. The rec room erupted into sound as every demigod, nymph, Cyclops, satyr, and other mythological creature started to talk, confused and worried. Annabeth was the only one to remain calm, though her eyes betrayed the chaos she felt. _"What?"_ she demanded over the noise.

Grover met Annabeth's stormy eyes. "That's what I thought, but he seemed pretty confident that they'd manage their quest. Maybe their quest prophecy said he'd succeed."

"Well, the only thing we can do now –" Annabeth stopped. No one could hear her over their own chatter. "HEY!" She shouted over the din. The room dimmed, demigods and creatures alike paying rapt attention. "The only thing we can do now is have faith in lady Styx's protection and Percy's skills. We have to finish the ship as fast as possible, so we can coordinate our arrival with Percy's return to the camp. I think if we show up a fortnight or so after he does, that'll be optimal for our acceptance into their camp and also the earliest we can get on the move to start this quest. Any objections?"

No one said anything for a moment, until a eight year old Nemesis demigod (how did she even get in the room?) raised her hand. Annabeth nodded to her. She squeaked in a tinny voice, "What's a fortnight?"

* * *

><p>No matter how cheerfully the sun shone through the tree branches, how gently a dry, cool breeze twisted through the trunks and stirred day-old golden monster dust, how sweetly the air smelled of pine and wild mint, nothing could calm the outraged Bobby storming through the clearing. He was like a force of nature, tearing through the leaf litter and brush, yanking aside shrubs and branches with fury.<p>

"I can't believe this!" he bellowed. "I can't believe this!"

The rest of us, packed and ready to travel, were standing in the middle of the clearing. We watched his irate cyclical progress with trepidation, not wanting to disturb his agitation for fear of a violent confrontation. I'd never seen the son of Mars like this before, and I certainly didn't want to get in his way.

Bobby jerked to a halt in his rampage, huffing and frowning at Simba resentfully. My griffon stared back evenly, not the slightest note of concern in his regal expression. "I suppose we'll have to all pack on _him_, then?"

"Hey, you don't have to act so mean," Hazel snapped, crossing her arms. "It's your own fault. If you had thought to bring the bike with you, this wouldn't be a problem. Though I can't say I'm sad to see it go."

I glanced down to the letter in my hands. It was written on thick, laminated paper, the message inscribed with permanent ink.

"_You leave your bike like that_

_And I'll leave you a note like this." – M_

We'd found it posted on an old oak, Bobby's motorcycle nowhere to be found.

"Hey, it's okay. You'll get it back eventually, I'm sure," I said placatingly.

He seemed to consider ignoring me, then burst, "Yeah? When's the last time a god gave you a gift after rescinding an old one?"

I grappled for a hold on my waning patience, then said evenly, "I don't remember." That sucked some of the fight out of him; he realized that he'd struck a memory-related nerve in me.

But before he could say anything else, Reyna clipped, "Anyway, there's nothing we can do to change it now. We'll just have to keep moving."

"Guess you're right," Bobby mumbled, looking down.

A question died in my throat as they all turned to the northwest and started marching through the woods, making more noise than necessary. Reyna, Hazel and Bobby were scanning our surroundings scrupulously, twitching towards every noise and rustle in the breeze. They seemed practiced at it, like they did this on every mission. Meg fell back next to me, walking slowly, her face displaying the same bemusement as mine. "What are they doing?" I asked her quietly.

"No idea," she answered.

After a pause, I voiced my real question: "Any clue as to how they plan to get to Minnesota in time on foot?"

"No idea," she repeated. We walked for a few seconds in silence, watching the three Romans carefully. She added abruptly, "They're searching for something. See the way they're all looking in different directions?"

"Are they expecting a motorcycle to just pop out of the dirt?" I mused sarcastically.

At my hushed voice, Hazel turned back with an exasperated sigh. "Look, for this to work, you guys have to shut up."

"_What_, exactly, needs to work? Do you mind telling us what you're doing?" I demanded.

"The gods will help us," Reyna said confidently.

"Why? I thought the gods weren't talking to us," I said.

Meg glanced at me sharply. "The gods have stopped communing with demigods?"

"Yeah," I answered, waiting for some kind of reply from the Romans. But they said nothing, instead moving further forward and scanning the woods meticulously. "They stopped about three months ago. Hera visited me once to test me and Lupa is still at legion camp, but other than that, I haven't gotten so much as a whisper from the gods." _Not true,_ I thought suddenly, remembering Poseidon's traveling advice yesterday.

"This doesn't bode well. The gods' silence. The rising Gigantes. Last time this happened…" Meg dropped ominously. I realized that she had been alive during the last Giant war. She knew the signs. She also knew practically everything about Greek demigods, being one herself.

I murmured to her, "Listen, you and I both know our heritage is different – _older_ – than theirs." I gestured to my friends. Meg's eyes shone, understanding catching the light. She nodded slowly. "So I need to know – you're the maiden you described in your story last night, aren't you?" She studied me carefully, her eyelids low, then nodded slowly. "Was the huge snake Hera created as a weapon called Python?"

Meg's eyes grew wide. "Why do you ask?"

"Python told me that the deity who created him stole my memories and could return them to me. I need to find that god or goddess, so I know who I am. So I'll ask you again: Did Hera create Python?"

Meg nodded slowly, her eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Yes. But Percy… I would be careful how you approach her on the subject. An insubordinate attitude might prompt her to destroy you."

Before I had a chance to respond, the Roman's froze in front of us, staring off to the right. I mimicked their pose, listening and watching intently, but didn't sense anything at first. Then a soft hissing noise tingled in my ears, followed by a white vapor snaking through the trees towards us. I pulled Riptide from my pocket and unsheathed it, preparing for a fight. At the sight of my lengthening sword, the mist turned dark red – blood red.

Reyna snapped at me in a whisper, "Put it away!", her eyes never leaving the accumulating clouds. When I followed her orders – very, very unwillingly – the mist returned to a milky grey, and it came towards us slower. "_Deimones_," she explained.

"_Demons? _You're having us wait to be killed by demons?" I demanded.

"Quiet," she clipped. The mist globbed into a miniature cumulous cloud, hanging at eye level in the air in front of us. "It won't hurt us." The cloud revolved and swirled, suspended midair as if it was waiting for something. The colors shifted from grey to blue to black to white as it waited, making it seem almost impatient. Reyna stepped forward enough that the cloud focused on her, smoothly gliding towards her. She then stated clearly, "We are seeking a guide to the place where Gration and Damysos rise."

A voice, much like the one of Python, slithered around in the air. _You have found your guide. Follow me, and you will reach your destination within the proper time._ The cloud moved away from us, cutting through the woods like they weren't there. We all followed after it, stumbling through the brush in our haste.

"What is that thing?" I asked lowly.

"I told you, it's a_ deimone_. They're the minor gods of missions, travels, woodlands, and guidance. The gods send them to help us on every mission, if we need it," Reyna said calmly.

"That sucks," I muttered, feeling like the Greek demigods got the short end of the stick.

Bobby looked at me strangely, like I was from outer space. "What's bad about it? It gets us where we need to be faster than we could hope to go alone."

"Uh, nothing," I said quickly.

"They're also the Mercury Division's most reliable source of information. Because _deimones_ are constant travelers and closely related to the winds, they know pretty much everything. All you have to do is track one down and ask a question, and it'll give you all the information is has. They're really kind spirits. I don't know why modern English used their name as the root for the word meaning 'devil'," Reyna expounded.

We followed the cloud through the woods, across busy roads, along creeks and slews, and over hills so steep they would've made Mount Olympus jealous. We walked for several hours, taking a break whenever the _deimone_ slowed enough to allow it, and hiking at top speed when it didn't. Hazel cleared the path for us by whistling, which made it easier and faster to progress. Regardless of how fast we walked, I couldn't shake the knowledge that we would never make it to Minnesota at this pace. I said nothing on the subject, though, in case the _deimone_ had something special in mind; however, it didn't seem too: we turned back and retraced our steps so many times it seemed like the spirit had no idea what it was doing.

Out of nowhere, the spirit stopped, and we all clunked to a halt. There was nothing in the area, just more pine needles and stinging nettle. Just as I was about to ask, a being popped into existence before us. It was a seven foot tall woman, garbed in a long dress fit for a combination of Elvis Presley and a hippie. Metal necklaces hung from her neck, clanging together like wind chimes, and the psychedelic colors twisting across her body made her hard to look at. Her face, though, was the worst part. Her hair was teased into a frizzy maroon afro, tamped down with hair bands and clips of all colors. Her face shone with a manic light, her grin wide, toothy, and rotten.

"Hello, children," she said in a fortune teller's mystic voice. It was either that, or the voice of a pedophile. "Care to play a game?"

In the presence of the madwoman, the _deimone_ bailed on us and dissipated into the wind. "No, thanks, we're good," I said, inching to the side. The rest of my group followed, keeping their eyes on the creature-person and their hands on their weaponry.

"No," the woman boomed, her voice suddenly stern and solid. "No, I think you really ought to play. It's not healthy for children to be as stressed and ill-informed as you are."

_Ill-informed?_ I wondered."Fine, we'll play your game," I said with as much confidence as I could muster. "But," I added, before the witch could get any crazy ideas, "You have to beat one of us in combat first." I looked over my team, all of which were staring back at me in confusion. _We have to figure out what she can do before we can play her 'game', _I wanted to say, but I held back.

"I agree to your terms, demigod. Which of you shall it be?" the woman asked formally.

I checked on the group's physical condition. Though Bobby was our strongest fighter – son of the war god, and all that – he was in no condition to beat up a mythological creature; the morning of strenuous hiking and his chest wound had seen to that. While Hazel was the most physically adept at the moment, but her nature skills would likely not help her against a really difficult foe. I had some idea of what Meg could do, but not enough to send her straight into battle. Reyna was the only logical choice, but I didn't like to force people to fight. I would have to do it; besides, I was invincible and a son of Poseidon, one of the three most powerful gods.

"Me," I said, stepping forward. Reyna objected, volunteering, but Bobby held her back. The woman already reached forward and shook my hand to seal the deal.

Our surroundings flashed, and we were suddenly in what looked like the ancient Coliseum, fully repaired and full size. The stands were packed with cheering people dressed in togas: it was as if she had transported us back in time to fight in the real gladiator dome. My team was seated in the top box, next to a man dressed like Caesar, a golden laurel draped on his head.

The woman stood opposite me, staring me down through classic gladiator gear. She hefted a spear and steadied her footing. Before she charged, she said, "My name is Lady Fortune, Perseus Jackson. I know everything there is to know about you, including your weak spot. For Fortune and her sisters Fate know all."

Before I knew what was happening, she started her attacks, her spear dancing perilously close to my body, but never connecting. I threw her attacks away with late blocks and sidesteps, barely avoiding her spear, though I knew I didn't really have to. Fortune advanced with terrifying speed for a hippie, dodging my thrusts and jabs. She managed to get behind me, and my spine tingled ferociously just before she poked her spear lightly against my back – right on my one weak spot. An electric spear of fear arced through me; I collapsed to the ground with Fortune standing triumphantly above, her spear holding me down with gentle power. She pressed down, sending a shock of pain more intense than anything I remembered from before bathing in the Styx. "You win," I said loudly.

Instantly, we were transported back to the wooded clearing. Everyone was standing in the exact same positions as before, still staring at me. "What do you mean, 'You win'?" Bobby demanded, stalking towards me like he meant to slap me.

"You just saw her beat me –" I started, perplexed. My main worry now was that they had seen my weak spot, not that we had to play whatever sick game Fortune could concoct.

"No, you just stared at her and then admitted defeat," Hazel said, looking just as puzzled as I felt. Apparently that had been all in my head. I glanced at Fortune: she had a mischievous grin on her face.

"Just a taste of the future, dear," she said mysteriously.

"I'll explain later," I murmured to my team. "Fine, we'll play your game," I said to Fortune.

She gave me a crocodile smile and waved her hand in the air, conjuring a massive, up-right wheel. In the wedges, phrases like "Eye of the Tiger!", "Skydiving!", and "Purple Sock Monster!" were accompanied by illustrations depicting a group of tigers eating a demigod, a kid skydiving without a parachute, and – well, the last one was hard to describe. But it wasn't pretty. Fortune produced a chipper smile, like this was the most fun anyone could have. And for her, I suppose that was true. "Spin the wheel or die, fools! Find out what Lady Luck holds in store for you!"

Hazel approached the wheel apprehensively, and grabbed on to one of the metal prongs along the wedge divisions. She gripped it tight and sent the wheel spinning, the ticker clacking loudly against the wedges as it spun. The wheel resembled Fortunes clothes, when in motion, because the colors blurred together in a tie-dye effect. As the wheel began to slow, the phrases became clear again and we all tensed, trying to read the fates and predict which would land under the ticker. It slowed to a crawl as Hazel backed up nervously to stand beside the rest of us.

The ticker click, click, clicked to a halt. Under its bright red arrow lay the words –

"One free question!" Fortune said, sounding completely depressed. The ticker was only barely pointing on the wedge, about to cross the line into the area for the phrase, "Tomahawk throwing practice!", with an artistic rendition of the goddess throwing axes at a demigod suspended on the wheel.

We all let out a sigh of relief. Reyna stepped forward, looking positively buoyant, and asked, extremely careful with her wording, "Will you take us to the rising ground of the twin giants?"

Fortune's lips perked into a smug expression. "I will. But you are too late."

The background of the forest faded from existence in the same way I had been transported to the arena. I wondered, _Is this real, or just a vision?_ But something about it told me it was real: we were in a snowy clearing, two masses of mud and tree root protruding high from the ground – twenty or thirty feet. The rest of the team was standing right next to me, staring at the spires with the same awe and fear I felt.

"I didn't expect it to be this easy," Reyna said suspiciously.

"Me neither," Hazel agreed.

"I thought we saw this place yesterday evening in your scrying glass, Meg. They weren't even close to this tall," I said slowly.

Meg shook her head in bemusement. "I don't know what happened. Normally this wouldn't happen. It would take them much longer to rise. But while we're here, we might as well–"

"–try to take them down," I finished for her.


	7. Seven: Curses

**Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book _The Lost Hero_ and the actual _The Son of Neptune_; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.**

**Critical reviews are always appreciated.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Curses<strong>

"Something's not right," Hazel warned me, as I started to assemble a battle plan in my head. How was I supposed to fight two hunks of rock and mud? "Where's Cesara?"

"Probably still trying to get here. She didn't get a prophecy, remember? That must have slowed her down," I said. "Hazel, I need you to try and slow down the spires with as much vegetation as possible." I looked at Meg. She was staring at the spires with a quizzical expression on her face, examining the set and spacing of the columns. With a harassed sigh, I moved on, thinking that the ancient being would be of no help. "Bobby, use your flaming sword to cut through the left spire base. Reyna, use explosive arrows to blast away the right-hand spire at the foundations." My team jogged towards the pillars, trying to stay upright as the ground lurched. The giants rose another few inches, upsetting the dirt around the bases.

I summoned all my power over the water, trying to see if I could do something – maybe create a giant mud hole that would suck the giants back under. I pulled groundwater to the surface and melted the snow, soaking the loamy dirt in seconds. The gurgling flow of the water as it formed sludgy bubbles sucked at the feet of my friends as they worked to destroy the spires. But the bases themselves didn't budge.

I felt useless. I didn't know what I could do, besides hack at them with a sword. In my helplessness, I looked to Meg; her expression was different – darker and much more determined. "Can you help?" I asked her, almost begging.

"Being the creation of the queen goddess does have its benefits," she replied vaguely, and stepped forward. Her hands rose like the walking dead, splaying out her fingers, the muscles sticking up under her skin as tension spread through her whole body. She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head in utter concentration, whimpering slightly when the ground began to shift. The upset earth felt more uncontrolled than the shakes caused by the giants rising, more like a real earthquake. I suddenly realized it felt like more than that to me – I could feel the various strata of rock splitting, the soil trembling as it fell asunder, the molten metals far below pushing the mass of earth to each side. I felt each sheet of stone and clay shift as it rumbled in a massive earthquake – and knew that if I tried, I could produce the same effect with my powers. Long after I had begun to sense those changes in the earth below, the topsoil split to reveal a widening rift roaring towards the twin spires. Meg stood at the origin of the fissure, concentrating hard to push it forward. The tear in the ground – hundreds of feet deep – gaped like an open mouth as it tried to swallow the spires.

Reyna, Bobby and Hazel jumped out of the way and ran from the expanding chasm. I pulled the groundwater out from the mud, hardening the earth below them and enabling me to create a wave that pushed them out of harm's way. Once they were safe from the precipice, I let the water rush into the chasm of the splitting earth.

But Meg was having issues. Instead of widening further and causing the spires to sink out of existence, the mouth of dirt spat the spires back toward the sky, some unseen force struggling with her power. In an unhappy epiphany, I realized that Gaea was using her might of the earth to close the gap and spit forth the encapsulated giants with even greater speed. At that, I summoned my power – my power over earthquakes. The unique pain took me by surprise, and my knees buckled. Using my power to create an earthquake spawned the sensation of a hammer pounding on my head; I was used to just the pull in my gut caused by working with the ocean. Despite the pain, the earth responded weakly to my call, providing a little aid to Meg's massive strength. Together, we waged war on Gaea's huge control over the earth, suspending the spires in the mud in a perpetual tug-of-war.

We held that way for several moments, pushing hard to keep the gap open. My brain tolled with each beat of a steadily growing headache, my muscles turning to rubber as I struggled with my new ability. When Meg finally yelled over her shoulder, I realized that she had sunk to her knees as well. "This isn't going to work!" she yelled. "We have to let go, or Gaea will sap all our energy and kill us!" I nodded numbly, releasing my hold on the earth.

The ground crashed together. The rift sewed together as quickly as it had torn apart, leaving no evidence of our struggles but the increased speed of the rising giants. Bobby, Reyna, and Hazel sprinted towards us, helping us to our shaky feet. Just as I reclaimed my footing, the ground gave an almighty lurch. The clay towers burst apart, sending hardened mud showering heavily down on us; we "duck and cover"-ed, crouching as we watched the massive beasts lumber from their cages.

Hazel gasped, showing her truly brave personality as she shouted her next few words: "Ugh! Those are the most hideous things I've ever seen!" Even though she was right – melted, lumpy blobs squashed together to form semi-human silhouettes – I wished she hadn't said anything. The monsters turned to face us, grinning brutally.

"Demigods!" one rumbled. It sounded like a dissonant combination of percussive instruments all crashed together at once, magnified by about a thousand. "Magnificent. Mother treats us well, feeding us silly little creatures like this." The larger one leaned down, presumably to pick us up and have a mid-afternoon snack.

"Really?" I shouted, feeling small and hopeless. But my voice boomed against the brobdingnagian figures in front of me, rebounding back with intense ferocity I didn't feel. "I think she must not like you at all. Because she gave _you_ to _me!_" I bellowed. The giant froze, then drew back his hand. He leaned down closer, to inspect me with his bulbous eyes.

"Oh, demigod? Why is it you wish me to fear you? You are six feet tall-" that wasn't true, I was five foot ten, but it wasn't like I was going to tell him that – "and weak, while I am five times your height and stronger than I have ever been." He chuckled, the sound grating jarringly against my eardrums. I thought disjointedly, _I wish I had earplugs_, though at the moment it seemed a little unimportant.

"You think size matters? I am the chosen of the gods!" I shouted, working hard to make my voice level with the volume of his. Apparently it was working, because my friends had all covered their ears and started a major staring fest. I jogged forward to stand between the giant brutes, motioning discretely for the rest to follow me. They did, extremely warily, but they did. That meant more to me than anything they could say: They trusted me explicitly with their lives. Sounding supremely braggadocious, I continued loudly, "I am invincible against attack, I am stronger than Heracles, I am the slayer of Hyperion!" – This memory came back to me rather fuzzily, my mind's eye capturing only the fiery form of the Titan being beaten into submission by Riptide, gale force winds and rain – "My strength outbalances both of yours put together. I will have fun destroying you!"

At legion camp, we had discussed the giants in stories told at dinner. They had always seemed fierce and intelligent and clever enough to take down the gods, terrifying in their perfect knowledge of how to destroy modern civilization. We had laughed off the trepidation we felt at the mention of their names in the comfort of knowing they had been extinguished several millennia ago – but here, they were on either side of me, very large, very strong and very alive. But I found some relief in the fact that – these two at least – were not nearly as intelligent or clever as the old stories led us to believe. At my boasting, they both swelled with rage, not bothering to think.

The two giants glared down at us, each seeming to plot his own personal revenge (Believe me, you don't wanna know how I knew they were both guys. Let me just say that tattered loincloths leave a lot to be desired in privacy). Within a few milliseconds of each other, the twins roared into the afternoon sun, lifting their heads back into the sky.

This next part I'm not sure I'll ever be able to describe accurately. Somehow, I knew something really, really horrible was about to happen. I pushed everyone to the ground, yelled at them to cover their heads. Time seemed to slow to sludge and dampen sound, leaving us swimming in the impossible moment before an explosion. Then, with a sonic boom of destructive power I can't even begin to describe, the twins let forth a blast of pure energy that ricocheted against their bodies. It soared over our heads, skimming across the top of my hair. I glanced up in time to see the giants falling backwards, suspended in the air, killed by their own attacks. An eternity later, their bodies fell to the earth with a crash nearly equaling the quake Meg and I had created.

When the shaking stopped, I pushed to a crouch. The others followed my lead, uncovering their heads to see the damage. In the thick silence, Bobby said softly, "Did they just kill each other?"

He was answered by the disintegration of the giant bodies. Golden ash swirled around us in the clearing, blurring the air with the reflective specks as they were swept north-east by the wind. I sat back on my heels and watched the solid wall of gold churn in the cyclone of air, barely able to see the others through the thickness of the ash. When the dust dissipated enough for me to see, I stood and helped the others to their feet.

"That was surreal," Hazel said apathetically, and brushed off her pants.

"I've never seen a Gigante use an aura blast before," Meg said slowly. "And certainly not to inadvertently kill another Gigante."

"Wait…" Hazel said, her eyes narrowing. "You may not have seen it, Meg, but this_ has_ happened before." She stood to her full height, the same gleam in her eye that she got when she told the myths.

"You're right," Reyna said, latching on to Hazel's train of thought. They both left me behind, though.

"What are you talking about?" I asked bluntly.

"In the first Giant War, there were nineteen giants. Those intended to replace the twelve Olympian gods, those intended to take down four other major gods, and three to quell human and demigod resistance; but two of the giants responsible for crushing the humans – Otus and Ephialtes – accidentally killed each other in battle. They fell early in the war, leaving only one giant, Leon, to try and deal with the humans and demigods. That's why demigods were able to participate so much in the war; Leon couldn't control them. The deaths of Otus and Ephialtes were instrumental to the success of the war effort."

"So… we wasted our time in coming here?" Bobby asked, clearly feeling miffed.

"Yes and no," Reyna said. "If we hadn't come to this site, there wouldn't have been any reason for the giants to attack, so they wouldn't have ended up killing each other. Then again, every minute we stand here yapping about it is one less minute we have to take down our actual targets."

"Then we need to move. We have to take down the giants we were assigned. Anybody see a _deimone_?" I asked. We divided up by gender and wandered the clearing, searching for some sign of the helpful spirits. We walked in circles for ten minutes, peering into the surrounding woods and lifting brush aside.

When the girls had gone their own way, Bobby said quietly, "That thing you did with the earthquake was really cool. Why didn't you tell us you could do that?"

"Because I couldn't, up until just then. Besides, most of it was Meg. That chick's got some crazy powers." I chuckled self-consciously.

"You're saying you discovered a new power and managed to use it? That's ridiculous. You're even stronger that I thought." He sounded jealous, a little wistful. He wouldn't meet my gaze.

"I'm really not," I said humbly. "I just get lucky. A lot."

He turned to me, his eyes blazing with fire – and I mean _literally_. I had the vague recollection of meeting Ares and receiving the same loathing look. I had no idea what I'd done to provoke such a response out of the usually-mild-mannered son of Mars. He spat, "Really? I don't think so. I think you're holding out on us. You want to let us get hurt, then swoop to the rescue look good doing it. You want to make us owe you. You've done that every time we've fought beside you so far, and I'm getting pretty sick of it." He gestured to the severe scarring I knew was hidden under his shirt.

I couldn't stop the look of disbelief that wormed onto my face. "Look, I'm just trying to do my best. I can't remember who I am or what my powers are, so if stuff like this happens, it's not my intention, all right? I'm working on instinct and hazy memories of how to fight, and –"

"Well it's not working!" Bobby yelled at me, throwing his arms in the air. "I mean, yeah, you can do great stuff. Yet you suck at teamwork. You're always interfering, making it impossible for me to do my job. You never let any of the rest of us fight!"

Anger bubbled in the pit of my stomach. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I caused an earthquake or something. "I'm just trying to keep you alive!" I shouted. The earth started to tremble.

"That's my point!" Bobby yelled back. "You don't have to! _Trust me_ for once. Believe it or not, I was a demigod before you came to camp! I've had training, and I've taken down my fair share of monsters, too. The Titan War saw to that. It would help if you acted like I was worth your time. It would help if you acted like I'm every bit as good as you!"

I stopped, the anger dying out of me completely. _The Titan War. _I grabbed at my bead necklace, yanking the black bead into my sight. Green letters glittered on the surface, names converged on my eyes. _Charles Beckendorf. _My head spun, and my hand went to my temple. _Silena Beauregard. _I gripped my head, thinking hard through my empty memories. _Michael Yew. _The names swirled into faces, so close, so close… _Luke Castellan._

I saw a boy – a man - with golden hair and blue eyes begging me for something. His scarred face pleaded with me, and I felt something shift in my hand as I gave it to him. Luke's hand went to his side, and suddenly he was falling, screaming in pain, dying. Golden energy pulsed around him as he died, and I wondered if I had caused this, caused this much pain to a close friend. Because I knew he was my friend, regardless of dark things he'd done in the past…

"Typical," Bobby scoffed, breaking my focus. "I say one thing, and amnesia boy goes off on a theatrical trance."

My head yanked up and I looked at him emptily. The loss of my stream of memories stung like a physical blow. I had come so close to knowing… The pain of that important day – the fulfillment of the last Great Prophecy – ached in my heart, a realization of what I had suffered, what I had lost. The day I became a deity's hero. The day I almost became a god.

Apparently Bobby saw something disturbing in my expression. He dropped his long-suffering act and backed up a few steps, a strange expression contorting his features. "Uh… Percy?"

I didn't say anything. I just stared at him blankly. "You're right. I'm sorry. I should trust you more. After all, I can't lose any more friends…" I drifted off, going back to staring at the bead. The letters still clearly spelled out the names of the dead, but it no longer gleamed with the magic of a fresh realization. The blunt ache of lost friends and dead heroes was all that remained. "You can count on me. I'll let you do your own thing."

"Uh – I didn't know – Is something wrong? Are you okay?" Bobby asked me, his attempts to reconnect with me failing. I was staring at the bead, thinking of all the burial shrouds I'd seen crumbling in the drifting smoke of the final fire. All the bodies I'd seen littered along the sides of the streets of Manhattan.

"I'm fine," I said hollowly. Luke died in my eyes again. And again. "Let's keep going." I realized I had given Luke the weapon to kill himself, let him sacrifice his soul for the safety of Olympus. I watched Kronos' spirit dissipate and fracture, returning to a state of half-life-half-death, but Luke's body still lay in the throne room, cold and empty…

A sudden flash of a vision came back to me. Michael Yew, crouched on the wire of a suspension bridge. I cracked the bridge open with Riptide, sending a shockwave up the cables and Michael into the river below. The vision was foggy, almost like a dream: I couldn't tell if this was a memory or some fabricated reality I had created in the days after the war to explain the archer's death. I walked forward, my feet dragging as if weighed down by the memories.

Bobby lagged at my heels for a while, uncertain. I ignored him, the memories flashing to my attention with greater speed and intensity. I saw my friends in a huddled war-party of forty, cheering the tribute, "For Olympus!" My mind flashed back to the dead in the Empire State Building. The bodies, the death. The golden drachma pressed onto cold eyelids, the burning shrouds. Silena in Clarisse la Rue's battle armor, her melting flesh swamped with drakon venom. The drakon itself, first screaming as it slithered on the side of a building, then scraping as it's husk rubbed along the pavement behind Clarisse's chariot. Annabeth lying on a hotel bed, Lee Fletcher bandaging her bleeding arm. Thalia, daughter of Zeus, crushed beneath a statue of Hera. My father, Poseidon, raging against the massive storm Typhon. The entirety of the war came back to me in those few garbled moments; my physical self treading slowly through the snow of the clearing, but my mind far, far away, in the suspended time of Manhattan.

A hand touched me on the shoulder, pulling me to the present. I surfaced from the memories, trying to reorient myself. Bobby was on my right side, looking at me with concern. "Dude. Are you okay?"

"Uh… yes?" I wasn't sure. "Memories."

"Your whole body was trembling. They must've been bad," he said, still watching my expression.

"Yeah," I mumbled dazedly, "Yeah, you could say that."

"You know you can tell me, right? I'm sorry if I was a jerk. I didn't…"

I stopped him. "We're cool, okay? It was my bad." I offered a hand. We shook on it and did that awkward-man-hug thing the guys at legion camp were prone to.

"Cool as ice," Bobby confirmed with a conciliatory smile.

At that moment, mist floated through the woods towards us. I turned to face it, waiting calmly for its approach while Bobby turned away and called for the girls. They came running. I thought it was strange until Reyna panted, "Meg had an idea… for the request."

Meg walked into the fog, before it had even fully formed, and stated clearly, "We seek a guide to the nearest sacred staff, then to the rising ground of Gration and Damysos." I glanced at Bobby and mouthed, _Sacred staff?_ He shrugged, looking just as nonplussed as I felt. The fog solidified and swooped to the west, slinking through the piney trees.

We chased after it eagerly, winding through the wilderness. "Sacred staff?" I asked no one in particular.

"The line _'seek farther, deity's hero, for relic of your horror'_ of your prophecy," Meg said shortly, "probably means a relic sacred to a god. Sacred relics can be used to evoke the power of god if obtained by force from a shrine or temple. If we find one, it might be the only way to kill the giants."

I thought about the line for a second, then said with a sinking sensation in my stomach, "But why would it be a relic of my _horror_?"

"I don't know. Do you fear the gods or something?" Reyna asked.

"No," I said reflexively. "But some of them are pretty ugly."

"It doesn't necessarily have to be Percy," Bobby said, his voice almost apologetic towards me. But he brought up a valid point, and I didn't even want it to mean me, anyway. "It just says 'deity's hero'. It could be you, Reyna. You've done a ton for the gods, and it would be your horror, because you have to take down a giant meant to crush your godly parent."

"I haven't done enough to be considered a hero of the gods," Reyna disagreed. "On the other hand, Percy apparently killed Hyperion."

Bobby's expression seemed to say, _Was that part of your boasting true?_, so I nodded. "Wildfires and droughts are ten times less likely in America, now," I said with a halfhearted shrug.

"Well no matter who the prophecy meant, a sacred staff is our best bet," Hazel said.

We walked on in silence, keeping our eyes on the _deimone_ ahead. A stray thought hit me, and I voiced it. "Does anyone know where we are?"

A puzzled silence met my words. "No," Reyna admitted.

* * *

><p>After we passed a rogue grizzly, four separate lynx, a herd of moose, and vast flocks of honking geese, it seemed pretty obvious from the taiga flora and endemic wildlife that we were somewhere wild and far north – the MinnesotaOntario border, southern Alaska, the Kodiak Archipelago. Somebody might as well of hung up a sign: YOU ARE IN CANADA NOW. PREPARE TO FREEZE TO DEATH. Snow dotted the ground in thin patches, blocked from the earth by the thick pine boughs above. We walked in silence, hungering for a proper meal and something to drink – our breakfast this morning seemed farther away than it was. The relative silence we kept as we walked broke occasionally with loud stomach grumbles. I thought my stomach would leap out of my torso in full lion form, it was growling so loudly. My throat ached with thirst almost as much as my temple throbbed with memory pains.

I was furious with my mind. Why couldn't I remember everything? The war came back to me clearly, but everything before that was still vague and empty. I pushed the boundaries of my mind, demanding more, demanding to know about my life at Camp Half-Blood – I had remembered its name, but nothing else about it – but my brain stubbornly refused to allow any more information loose. I was left with a deep pool of triumph and misery in my mind, having no cheerful memories to blunt to blow of such horrible visions.

I finally abandoned my attempts to know more, kneading my hands together in barely suppressed frustration. I slowly became aware of my increasing thirst. I started to worry less about my past and more about my present. Once my tongue started feeling like sandpaper, my focus shifted entirely. I leaned my head back to catch snowmelt in my mouth, tried anything to push back the drought in my throat. The others were in similar condition; none of us had a water bottle. Our mouths hung half-way open as we chased the _deimone_ and tried not to pant too noticeably.

When I finally caved and seriously considered a search for water, a glittering fresh water spring appeared before us. Cool spring water burbled over smooth layers of grey slate. Fifty small fountains streamed in thin arcs along the edges into the center of the pool. I squinted at it, unable to believe my eyes. Still, I lived with real Greco-Roman myths every day; I wanted to say "Nothing is too unlikely for demigods," and then plunge my head into the water and take a good, long drink. Yet my instincts cautioned me: the adrenaline and weariness I felt from my encounter with Fortune still buzzed in my veins. I sensed a negative energy in the water that I couldn't explain. Before anyone could make a mistake, I warned, "Nobody go near it."

"But-" Hazel protested.

"Nowhere near it!" I ordered, sounding terse. The others backed up as I motioned for them to skirt around its edge.

When we turned to chase the escaping _deimone_, a female voice called after us. "Hello, demigods." We turned to face a beautiful woman; she gazed at us, sitting on the stone edge of the pool with her flowing white skirts billowing in the water behind her. Her greeting hummed in the air like a bell tone. Though my powers over water told me to back away slowly, I was drawn forward by her mesmerizing voice. My friends followed, picking their way across the needle-strewn path to the glistening pool. Reyna glanced at me, her face full of a question; she frowned and shifted her head slightly side to side. _Run?_ she seemed to ask.

Meg had other plans. "Greetings, nymph. How may we help you?" she asked, slipping into her older dialect.

For a moment, the nymph's face twisted in a sour expression so violent, it would've made Ares run to Hera in fear; then it resolved and she appeared composed and blissful. "I wish to tell you that I am no nymph. In my day, mortals called me Andromeda, the most beautiful maiden in the land and wife of a great hero. I ask that you do not compare me with lowly nymphs, who have proven themselves to be rather vain about their homely looks." The dangerous tone dropped out of her voice, and she greeted us cordially, "Regardless, I am quite lonely and _thirst_ for companionship. Would you like to stay with me for a while?" Her terrifying expression had already faded into the suspicious back of my mind.

I looked at Reyna. My subconscious wanted to scream, _Back away, back away, back away,_ but the calm lapping of the waters assuaged me into lazy submission. I watched as some form of recognition flashed across Reyna's eyes, the understanding pushing her to step forward towards the lady. "Of course we would. My name's Reyna. This is Hazel, Bobby, Megara, and Perseus." I could tell from the way she pronounced my name that she wanted Andromeda to pick up on it.

And the woman did. Her eyes immediately flicked to me and raked over my body. She smiled warmly, approaching and holding her arms out to me. "It is good to see my husband left a legacy worth remembering. Perhaps you have heard of his deeds? He slew Medusa, that cursed gorgon, and saved me from the clutches of Cetos, the great Kraken. Are you worthy of your namesake?" Her dangerous eyes glared into mine.

Then I remembered the hero she'd been married to – the original Perseus. I remembered my fight with the gorgons – multiple fights, really – and how they mentioned me smelling like Medusa's blood. While I couldn't picture myself lopping of the snake-woman's head, I trusted the nose of those monsters. They'd proven to be shockingly accurate. "He slew one gorgon. I've killed all three," I said boldly.

Andromeda's demeanor shifted slightly. She welcomed us towards the pool. "Well then, by all means, do drink. These waters are good for rest and rejuvenation. Indeed, if you are blessed, the gods will guide you to the one fountain that sprays waters of healing." There were nearly fifty small arcs of water streaming into the pool from the edges. A rogue thought came to me. Could it heal my amnesia? Finding the one fountain with healing properties would take a while, but I was determined to try. It could give me my memory back. I knew it.

Meg stepped towards the pool first, because she was closest, and leaned down to drink. Just as her fingers broke the surface, an inky substance appeared in the base of the pool and spread through the water. Meg tried to jerk away, cursing in ancient Greek, but black tendrils of vapor burst from the rippling surface and tangled around her fingers. They wrapped around her arms, swarming her struggling body. She screamed at Andromeda, her voice piercing the air._ "Katára sas!" Curse you!_

I ran forward, but a shield of energy burst from the hero's wife and blew us all backwards. She was smiling cruelly, the same violent expression from earlier twisting across her perfect mouth. "Of course, you can be unlucky, too. The pool of Hermaphroditus will destroy you for your mistake."

I slammed my fist against the invisible barrier, watching threads of dark energy tangle around Meg's thrashing body. Her movements slowed and stopped as the filaments spread, causing paralysis where they touched. I threw a helpless look to Reyna. She stared back at me, wide-eyed and voiceless. Hazel's voice burst into the air at a full bellow: "Just because she insulted your beauty? You _monster_!" The fiery girl beat at the barrier with her hands and an army of tree roots and wild animals. The bears, moose, and lynx we'd seen seemed to flood from nowhere. They thrashed against the barrier, making the clear dome flash with strain.

I was so caught up in the display of power that I almost missed the raging girl's point: Andromeda was killing Meg out of insulted vanity. I remembered her volatile expression and her words: _I ask that you do not compare me with lowly nymphs, who have proven themselves to be rather vain about their homely looks... _Anger and injustice thrummed through me, and I blasted the force field with as much water as I could pull from the snow around me. Bobby drew his slice-anything-with-flaming-awesomeness sword and slashed at the energy field. Reyna unloaded fifty explosive arrows straight into the force field. Nothing put a dent in it. We watched, horrified, as Meg rapidly slid into the oily depths of the pool. "What are you doing to her?" I yelled at the princess.

"This is the pool of Hermaphroditus, son of Venus. The immortal nymph of these waters, Salmacis, fused herself into his body out of adoration for his beauty. Venus' son cursed the pool in his fury. Now demons live in the water," the woman said calmly, like she sacrificed people to the pool every day. "They lack hosts. When appropriate vessels touch the water – that is, ancient beings – the demons take control and destroy their souls from the inside out." Andromeda still had that evil grin ripped across her teeth. "The demon will turn Megara into a marauding ghoul doomed to haunt the Underworld forever," she said, throwing her shiny flaxen hair over her shoulder.

"I – won't – let – that – happen!" I bellowed, marking every word with a blast of ice against the field. We finally broke through, shattering the raw energy like it was glass. Andromeda smiled wider, pointing into the pool. It was empty and clear, Meg's body nowhere to be found.

"Follow her if you dare," Andromeda said. "But you will not like what you find." With a disgustingly self-satisfied expression, she whistled. A pegasus galloped out of the air, landed long enough for the woman to board and the horse to make eye contact with me._ I'm sorry sir, but I am bound to this woman as a gift from your namesake. If it were up to me, I would leave her to your devices, _the pegasus thought to me. It's white feathers shone in the morning light as it apologized to me. Then it turned its sorrowful eyes to the sky and swept from my gaze.

_That was new,_ I thought, weirded out by having a winged horse talking in my head.

"What do we do?" asked Hazel, sounding outraged. I could tell from her tone that she was already sure of what we were going to do. She was just asking permission.

I gave her the answer we all wanted. "We go to the Underworld, of course."

* * *

><p>None of us knew how to get to the Underworld. Bobby had been once, but had traveled through the main entrance out west. Reyna, as a child of the god of light and warmth, had never been. She hated all dark, cold, and cramped spaces; she only agreed to go because Meg needed us. After all, if it weren't for us, she would still be alive and hiding in her cozy little home in Wyoming.<p>

Hazel knew the earth better than the rest of us. She took first watch, nursing an idea that she wouldn't tell us, in case it was a dud. She said she didn't want to get our hopes up, but it seemed more like she was afraid of the possibility of it working. She said down with her legs crossed and started to meditate, looking strangely like those statues of the enlightened Buddha underneath the banyan tree.

Bobby laid down to take a quick nap on the padding of pine needles while Hazel thought. Reyna declined a chance to rest, insisting on pacing the edge of the pool, staring into its depths. I sat against a tree, thinking about the pool. If I had the guts to do it, I might be able to find the one healing fountain in the spring. Then again, the spring had demons in it ready to attack immortals. What if I qualified, with my invincible curse? What if there were other qualities of the spring that Andromeda had failed to mention?

Without meaning to, I nodded into a light doze. Flashes of memories came back to me: nothing solid enough to trigger a full flood of memories, but just strong enough to tantalize my brain. My mind finally wore down and gave out, to tired of remembering to try any more in my sleep. I slept in blank darkness until Reyna shook me awake.

"Hazel's found a way," she said. As I got to my feet, I noticed the spring was still there; yet I stuck by my decision to avoid the waters. The possibility of regaining my memories wasn't worth the trouble.

Hazel motioned me towards her. A _deimone _floated by her side, ready to travel at her word. "Percy, if you can crack the ground open with your powers, I can form the earth into a tunnel. I think that the _deimone_ can guide us along a path to the Underworld."

The worried tone of her voice gave me pause. "And if this doesn't work?"

"Then we'll all be crushed by collapsing earth and end up in the Underworld anyway," she said, trying to stay cheerful. "Whenever you're ready, Percy."

"Great," I muttered. I closed my eyes and pictured the earth cracking open enough to create a rough tunnel. A timpani picked up a pounding beat in my head, slamming painfully against my temple. For a moment, nothing happened, and I struggled with the earth futilely; then, with a noise like bone breaking, the ground ripped open. I heard Hermaphroditus' spring fall through the ground into the void, shattering and spraying water everywhere. When I opened my eyes, a pit as large as a basketball court fell away in front of us, deeper than my eyes could see.

Hazel started to sing, her voice meandering into the pit. Mud reshaped into a tube, tree roots and clay cracking as they snaked across the ground. A tunnel took form in front of us, climbing down into the darkness. Hazel motioned me forward as she sang, saying with her eyes, _You're the one that can see in utter darkness._ I grabbed Hazel's hand, she grabbed Bobby's, and he grabbed Reyna's; in our train, we forayed into the darkness. I mutely guided my friends along, barely able to make out hazy shapes in the blackness. I followed the whispery rustlings of the spirit as it floated in front of me, its misty body brushing against the walls as we went. We walked for ages, turning occasionally but always sloping downward, Hazel's song ringing in our sensory-devoid ears.

The situation brought back the inkling of a memory – descending into the Underworld with a different escort. It was one of my more vague memories, so I discarded it and walked on.

Gradually the slope flattened. Our tunnel connected to a shady cavern, where the area was luminous enough that the others could see. We let go of our train of connected hands and looked around. The _deimone _dissipated. Hazel stopped singing, leaving us in dreary silence. Nothing stirred in the cavern.

After a moment, I made out a group of shades – the souls of the dead – glowing faintly in a huddle at the far edge of the cavern. I made my way towards them, peeling my eyes open as far as they would go in an attempt to see better. When we made it to the group, the shades opened an isle for us to pass. "Why are they looking at us like that?" I asked in a low voice.

Bobby answered. "The dead want to touch the living, because they think it'll make them feel alive again. If they do touch you, they start to suck the life out of you. It's really, really dangerous," he said. As we wandered through the shades, I saw them leaning towards us like flowers to the light. He continued, "Pluto passed a law about a thousand year ago forbidding the dead to get within ten feet of the living. Just in case he's visited by his demigod children."

"I always thought Had – _Pluto _wasn't very fond of his demigod children. If I remember right, he pretty much wanted to kill his last son," I said, thinking inexplicably of a skull-clad youth with a black iron sword.

I got another one of those weird looks that I was prone to receiving. Apparently my views on the myths were too weird for these guys. Then Bobby faced the edge of the cavern and continued walking through the shades. I followed, glancing into the transparent faces of the dead.

The cavern enlarged into another, much larger cavern. The twenty foot long stalactites hanging from the ceiling were far enough away that they looked like ants crawling on the roof. The fields of the Underworld extended infinitely to every side, filled with lost souls and order-maintaining demons. Because I couldn't remember what the Underworld looked like when I was a Greek demigod, I had nothing to compare this Roman version to; still, I could tell it was different. Five rivers wound across the plains in front of the obsidian walls of Erebos. Four of the rivers guarded the walls, like additional boundary lines, and one cut across them, flowing slowly in midair towards the gates of Hades' kingdom. I saw the ferryman Charon poling down that river towards the walls. I could see the three-headed hound Cerberus from here, though I thought that was a little strange. He took the form of a giant, disciplined, and ferociously snarling Doberman Pinscher. Three lines of shades waited in rigid lines beneath his legs.

"The five rivers. We have to use Acheron – the river of the ferryman – to get across the four others," Reyna murmured. "I've never seen the rivers in person before."

"Wait," I said, alarmed. "_Acheron_… that translates to…"

"Woe," Bobby confirmed with a nod. "Woe cuts across everything else. We have to use Woe to cross the Cocytus, Phlegethon, Lethe, and Styx. Or we can wade across them, but that pretty much guarantees you'll go insane and have permanent amnesia."

I glanced around, taking in the situation. Underneath the floating waters of Acheron, a rickety bridge spanned the width of each of the rivers. "Or we can just walk across," I offered with the slightest hint of impudent irony. The others noticed the bridges that hadn't been there a few seconds before and blinked in surprise.

"The Underworld adjusts to the needs of its inhabitants," Hazel guessed. I shrugged, assuming that was as good of an explanation as we were going to get.

I crossed the plain of dead ghost grass to the first bridge. The oily waters of Acheron flowed above us, suspended eerily in the air. I set foot on the plank bridge, testing its strength. It didn't seem weak, so I motioned for the rest to follow me. They did, stepping slowly onto the rickety boards. We edged across the bridge, hoping the wood didn't collapse. The current of his river flowed rapidly beneath us, shades screaming beneath the surface, their tear-filled eyes crying up at us.

At the halfway point, a male nymph blossomed from the waters beneath us and took form on the bridge. He stared at me, his eyes full of pain. I watched my worst memories of loss and grief burn in his eyes, searing the visions into my mind. He turned to Reyna, his eyes branding images into her mind with intensity only remembered visions can have. "Reyna Marcellus," he said, his voice cold. "In your life, you have experienced the pain of Lamentation. You and your party may pass." _Cocytus, _I realized. _Lamentation: He's the spirit of misery and human sorrow._ I saw Reyna bow to him as we passed, her eyes full of tears. I wanted to ask what Cocytus was talking about, but decided to hold my tongue. Anything that could reduce Reyna to tears was none of my business and would probably make me run for my life.

The short walk to the next bridge seemed to take forever. Each step weighed heavily on us as we each remembered horrible moments in our lives: the death of friends, family members, the suffering of others. The stray memory of Annabeth holding up the weight of the sky came to me. I saw her hair turning grey as I watched, her face crying out with pain. I shook my head and blinked, struggling to move on.

We finally reached the next bridge, which was slightly more transparent and ghostly. Since we knew what to expect this time, we marched straight up to the peak of the bridge and waited for the nymph to appear. He swirled into existence just as we expected, his expression detached. Phlegethon stared at us, his eyes alight with a terrible fire. His river, once peaceful in its oily black currents, suddenly caught fire. The water blazed with five foot flames, the blue and white line of conflagration cutting severely across the dead plain. Tendrils of fire licked at the bridge, and though it refused to burn, we all huddled up together to face the horror. Phlegethon murmured, "_To a storm of fire, the world must fall._ Remember that, demigods. Remember that." He seemed to stare at Hazel for an inordinate amount of time, making her shudder and struggle with some terrible thought. Then it struck me – if everything caught fire, wildlife and plants would be completely wiped out. I felt for her as she envisioned a dreadful future.

He dripped back into the river, the oily inferno sputtering out.

We proceeded again, even more cautious. I could've sworn my eyebrows had been scorched off by the mystical fire. When we reached the next river, I watched its murky white waters with trepidation. I knew this river. The Lethe. Oblivion incarnate. An almost entirely transparent bridge spanned the width of its lazily swirling waters. We all shared a look before I stepped out onto the ghost-bridge. The rest followed slowly, taking each step with extreme care as they struggled not to look down into the milky water. Bobby stopped at my shoulder as we watched Lady Oblivion churn into being, her body solidifying out of the hazy waters. She measured each of us in turn, her eyes moving slowly from one demigod to the next. When she looked at me, I swore I could feel her presence in my mind, probing, searing at the edges. She stopped at Bobby, staring into his eyes for longer than the rest of us.

"Bobby Hargrove," she said, as if tasting the name on her tongue. "You try to forget. You try to avoid remembering. You do not sleep. To let your past go, you must embrace it. I fear there is no other way. I will not help you on your mission to ignore the past. Do not dare to drink my waters. For you, the memories will only strengthen." With that, she gave us one last intrigued study, then dropped into the river below.

I looked at Bobby. He was shaking, his face white. I almost opened my mouth the ask, but then thought better of it. Instead, I gripped his shoulder comfortingly and said, "Come on. One more river to go." Bobby looked at me, his expression full of appreciation for my tact.

We walked on.

I stopped at the final river. It glistened with pollution. Forsaken dreams, ideas, lives, and childhoods drifted through the water. The bridge shimmered, almost non-existent. When Hazel stepped forward to cross the bridge, I held her back. "No," I said. My voice carried far in the silence of the Underworld. The distant screams of souls being tortured in the Fields of Punishment harmonized in the background. "I'll go across first. If I fall through, it's okay. But if you do…" I glanced at the waters again. "The river can destroy you. I'll go first." Hazel accepted this logic as reasonable and stepped back willingly.

I walked forward, onto the bridge. It held my weight, though I'll never know how. I stepped lightly towards the midpoint of the bridge.

Lady Styx shot from the water with speed unrivaled by the other river spirits. She towered above me, at least seven feet tall, the eddies of her watery body churning in agitation. The water was black and oily, like Phlegethon's waters, but stray bits of human materials floated to the skin of her body. The head of a doll surfaced briefly on her forehead like a pimple, then receded. Several college diplomas popped to the surface of her crossed arms before sinking back into the river. "No living mortals may pass this point," she said, her voice like steel. Her polluted-water eyes looked at me with ageless misery. I suppose that's what you get for being the barrier between life and death. When you see as many dead guys as she does, its probably natural to start feeling uber depressed.

"We're here to find a friend," I said stubbornly.

"No living mortals may pass this point. I am the lady of the river Styx, the boundary water between the worlds of the living and the dead. It is my duty to inform you: You may not pass into Erebos," she said.

I didn't come this far to give up. I glared into her stormy eyes, and insisted, "You have to let us pass. We need to save a friend. She doesn't belong down here."

"I know the friend of which you speak, demigod," Styx assured me. "She cannot return to the world of the living. She is a danger to herself." Styx looked towards the lines of shades moving into the world of the dead. I noticed all three harpies struggling with a shade. The shade preformed several bits of magic, summoning clouds to create weapons and lash at her jailers. She screamed wordlessly, but the tone was clear: _Let me go!_ "She is beyond your help."

I backed off of the bridge, boiling with anger. I wasn't giving up yet. I yelled at Styx: "If you don't let me across, I'm going to wade across your river and get her myself!"

"You can't, demigod. Even fools should know that. My waters sever the soul from the body," Styx said, looking confident.

Well, I was about to shatter that confidence. I rushed into the river, stomping through the waist-high water. It stung in a familiar way, but couldn't affect me. I had already bathed in the waters once – doing it again was downright easy. "I told you I would cross, Styx. Are you going to help me, or make this difficult?" I demanded of her.

The nymph frowned, recognition dawning dangerously across her face. "Perseus Jackson," she growled, flowing straight through the bridge and coming to hover before me. "You are too bold for your own good."

"Will you help us or not?" I demanded. I knew that to get Meg back into the world of the living, we would need Styx's consent. Styx waved to the harpies; I saw them pick up Meg by the armpits and fly in our direction. Meg was struggling against their grimy claws.

"You will one day regret bathing in my river," Styx said regally, glaring down at me. I stared right back, challenging her. "But I concede. I can help you. In order to rescue a soul from the confines of Death, one whom I have cursed must will to have the blessing annulled." Words popped into my head, whispering, aching to be voiced. _Rescind your gift, Lady Styx, nymph of the river… _I barely managed to keep my mouth shut. "You can return Meg to the world of the living in return for your invulnerability. If you do, you will be spared the pain of bearing my curse, and Megara will be granted a second life." Styx studied me as more words slithered into my mind and the harpies grew closer with a demonized Meg. _Deny the spirit of Megara entrance to the Underworld…_

When Meg caught sight of me, she stopped fighting. The harpies sat her down on the opposite side of the river. She stared at me, visibly struggling with a demon in her mind. "Percy? You came for me?" she asked. A demonic whisper accompanied her voice, saying words that she wasn't mouthing. _"I will tear you to shreds, silly humans…"_

"Of course," I managed to say. "We all came. To set you free." Meg scanned the living side of the river, seeing Reyna, Bobby, and Hazel standing on the shore.

"I can't return, Percy," Meg said. The final words of the necessary incantation wormed into my head _...And send her back to us, alive and whole._ I wanted to say the words, but I couldn't let my curse go that easily. It had saved my life multiple times. Yet I knew I had to do it, to save the girl we had gotten killed. I had to whatever it took to save her life. "Don't do it, Percy," Meg said, her voice full of warning. "I am indebted to Hades. I died, just like I told you around the camp fire. I escaped the Underworld recently when Gaea was trying to release Medea, and she pronounced the witch's name wrong. Hades has had me marked for death since I escaped." Somehow, this revelation wasn't altogether surprising. Still, the guilt of her death weighed heavily on me. "Go, Percy. You can't save me. You'll need your curse in the future anyway."

"But - " I protested.

_"I will vanquish you all, harpies!"_ She screamed abruptly, glaring at Alecto. Then Meg blinked as she fought for control of her soul. The demon was driving her to pieces. "Besides," she said, her eyes glazed, "I'm finally happy. Apollo can't chase me here. He isn't allowed in the land of the dead."

Unwillingly, I nodded, trying to understand her reasoning. Meg fell into insanity from the demon from attacking her soul; the harpies picked her up and swooped into the air. Her flailing body harassed the squawking harpies all the way across the walls of Erebos. The flaming torches along the tops of the walls illuminated her passage into death. I slogged from the river, emerging totally dry but defeated. I walked to the others. Their mouths were pulled into lines of regret.

"That went well," I said with acidic sarcasm. Nobody objected. We turned to leave, resigned to the fact that we would have to continue the quest without Meg.

"Perseus," Styx called. I turned to face her, waiting. She chose her words carefully. Her brow knitted in the face I had come to pair with people who had very, very bad news. Still, that didn't prepare me for her words. "Of those who have tested my curse, you have been the most resilient. I do not believe your luck will last much longer."

* * *

><p><strong>Note: "To <em>a<em> storm _of_ fire," is an intentional character mistake.**


	8. Eight: Homecoming

Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book _The Lost Hero_ and the actual _The Son of Neptune_; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.

Critical reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Homecoming<strong>

Coming up from the Underworld was a real chore. Hazel strained against the earth, going purple in the face from how forcefully she was singing. Apparently, Gaea thought we'd be of more use to her underground than above, because she was constricting the tunnel to only two feet in diameter, Hazel only barely managing to push back the earth enough for us to squeeze through. I wanted to help, but it turned out that my powers only extended to creating massive, practically uncontrollable earthquakes. So Hazel drove forward by herself, muttering between breaths something about crushing the stupid earth goddess with the stupid sky to stop the stupid ground from squishing her stupid friends. I tried not to be insulted.

When we finally surfaced, crawling on all fours from the tube of earth, Hazel fell to the ground and let the tunnel collapse. She just lay there panting for five minutes, refusing to budge while she caught her breath.

I had time to survey my surroundings. We were in a field of dead grasses, the yellow husks rustling softly in an icy northern breeze. The sun sighed on the horizon, retreating into the dark of night. On every side were more snow-dappled fields, edged with the glinting light of a lake two miles away. On the edge of the reflective waters, a stand of coniferous trees protected a smoking city; I could barely make out the words on a billboard: **Welcome to Duluth, city of lakeside views and snow. Population: 86918. **_We must be in Minnesota, _I thought. I was struck by a refreshingly hopeful idea: _We might actually have a chance at this._

Hazel seemed less hopeful; she sat up, groaning, her expression dangerously irritated. She wore her look that preceded a storm of flying tree branches, enraged deer, and heavy sword strikes. I was relieved when she settled for saying loudly, "Gaea, do that again and I'll start burying Styrofoam in you wherever I go." The earth rumbled, then stilled. _Not if I crush you first, demigod ingrate, _Gaea whispered in the grasses. Hazel looked satisfied with this and rose to her feet. "All right, I'm fine now. Let's find a _deimone _and get out of here."

"You trust them?" I mumbled. Hazel glanced at me sharply, though Bobby was nodding like I had a point. "What?" I demanded. "Every time we ask them for directions, we end up in a pinch with some psychopathic luck hippie, or a pile of monsters, or deranged Miss-Ancient-Beauty-Pageant winner with a cursed pool. Who knows what kind of trap they'll lead us into next," I said.

Before Reyna could argue the point, a wad of mist flew from the swaying grasses. The _deimone_ huddled in the air, trying to stay in a solid form with the fierce wind. A whispering voice slid from the mist: it seemed like there was no sound, yet the message was clearly audible. "No path is without danger, demigod. On your journey, you have discovered something crucial to your success. Now, do you seek guidance or do you cower from your task?"

We all shared a look. Reyna gave a slight nod and motioned me forward.

"We seek guidance," I admitted grudgingly. As to what we had learned – other than to never, ever, trust strange women in the woods – I was at a loss. Still, if a god of advice and pathways said we'd learned something on a trek, it was probably true. "If you could take us to the nearest sacred staff, then to the rising ground of Gration and Damysos, that would be great."

If mist can nod, then that's what the _deimone _did. It then floated swiftly towards Lake Superior in the southeast. We chased it, crashing through the dead reeds and clomping across the frozen ground. Snow melted as it clung to my sweaty skin, soaking my tennis shoes, jeans, and zip-up jacket quickly. The sun fell and plunged us into night. The _deimone _led on unrelentingly, leaving us to our own devices to deal with the darkness. I tripped several times, looking stupid and clumsy – at least until Reyna fell flat onto her face, landing in a squelch of mud. When Bobby tried to stop and help her up, he slipped on a patch of marshy ground, skating forward several feet before crumpling to his knees. Only Hazel managed to stay standing, though she stepped in more mounds of snow than the rest of us in her effort to avoid the mud. By the time we got to the lake a quarter of an hour later, I was cursing (rather airily, my breath gone from running for so long) at my sea powers for not extending to sweat and snowmelt. I was dripping and cold from the wind. My knees were muddy and my pant legs trashed from brambles. The others weren't looking any better, breathing hard and caked with slop.

At the brisk edge of Lake Superior, the lack of solid ground failed to faze the guidance spirit. It flew across the lake, choppy water licking at the lower tier of its wispy body. We stood on the bank, wondering what to do.

That's when I spotted him.

He was standing a ways down the beach, his hands gripped together behind his back as he stared across the water. His mane of black hair swirled in the wind, the trimmed beard looking wild but majestic in the darkness. He glanced at me, smiling slightly, his sea-green eyes mirroring my own.

"I'll be back," I promised my friends, stumbling towards the seaman. His fishing rod lay in the dirt to one side, the tack box covered in a slight sheet of snow; both sat far enough away from him as to be clear that he wasn't here to fish. He was here for me.

I treaded swiftly across the beach, sure to step in the edge of the breaking waves. The lake water filled me with new strength, erasing my tiredness. As I reached him, I hazarded a nervous glance to see the _deimone_ fading in the distance.

Then I met my father's eyes. He studied me intently for a moment, his mouth pulling into a frown. "I see they've Romanized you, my boy," he said, his voice soft. My eyebrows lowered, my mouth opened to protest, but – "I can see it in your eyes. So serious. Unsmiling. Where's the sarcasm and upbeat personality I've come to expect from you?" Now I frowned, realizing that he was right. I hadn't made a witty quip on almost the entire mission.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," I said bitterly.

Poseidon looked saddened by my response. "Exactly," he said.

We stood there for a moment in silence.

"Why didn't you tell me that I can create earthquakes?" I blurted.

"Why didn't Zeus tell Thalia that she can create lightning?" Poseidon answered lightly.

"Because Zeus is afraid to look nice?" I volunteered. The sky thrummed as Zeus sent a lightning bolt across the sky, throwing the waves of the lake into sharp relief.

Poseidon smiled softly. The joke was weak, like my ability to produce sarcastic remarks was an atrophying muscle; nonetheless, his eyes adopted a twinkle they had lacked the moment before. "Because the children of the gods must walk their paths alone," he corrected. "They can make friends, meet their parents, and fight together for the good of mankind, but ultimately, their journey is a solitary one. You have to learn your destiny, your skills, and your weaknesses by yourself. And in this, we come to the topic I am here to discuss."

I glanced behind me on instinct to see Reyna picking her way across the beach to us. I waved her back, mouthing, _I'm fine_. She nodded and didn't come closer. Then again, she didn't back away either. Her brown eyes watched with hawk-like concentration.

"Do you remember your fatal flaw?" Poseidon asked, reclaiming my attention. He said it like it was the most important thing in the world. I tried to remember, searching my empty brain, but…

"Uh… no," I replied. Dark clouds rolled over the lake, booming their displeasure through the air. The wind ripped at my soaked clothes.

"When you retrieve your memories, you will know what it is. I caution you: your fatal flaw will destroy the world if you cannot control it."

"Oh. Nice to know," I said, my heart sinking. Whatever it was, it didn't sound like it could be a good thing. I glanced distractedly at the disappearing _deimone_. "Well, in the meantime, while I'm not about to destroy the world and kill everyone, can we have a boat? Our guide is getting away."

"Of course," Poseidon said slowly. "After I give you one last piece of advice. I realize that as my son, you are used to Zeus's children taking control while leaving the brunt of responsibilities and hazards to you. I ask that you do not emulate their style of leadership. Your friends seem to resent that in a leader as much as you do. Trust them. They will not guide you into error."

I opened my mouth, baffled, until I thought of Bobby yelling at me earlier. I wasn't treating my friends like the skilled warriors and intelligent people they were. I closed my mouth, ashamed. Is this what it meant to be a Roman? No, I knew better. Reyna, Hazel, Bobby – they were Romans, and loyal, hardworking leaders to boot. Unlike me.

"Do not be so hard on yourself," Poseidon said, seeing my expression. "It's natural that you are unsure of your identity, given your loss of memories. For the Great Prophecy to succeed, and for your peace of mind, you must learn who you used to be and who the Fates will make you." He paused, a genuinely hopeless expression on his face. "It is unfortunate that the greatest leaders of each camp had to lose themselves in order to save the world."

I frowned. Both of the leaders? That meant… Jason was at my camp. My home. Whoever he was, I hoped he was smart enough to keep my friends out of danger. I looked over my shoulder at my new friends, weighed down by the responsibility to keep them safe. Not just because they were my surrogate family – waking up with no memories or home, I would have been lost without them – but because they were Jason's friends, too.

"Get going, Percy. You don't want to lose your guide," my father said.

A canoe appeared out of the waves and crashed to the shore beside Reyna. She startled and stepped back a few feet, then looked at me beseechingly. I couldn't hold back the smile tugging at my mouth. It was rare to see Reyna unnerved.

"Thank you," I said to my father. I wasn't sure which I appreciated more – the boat or Reyna's look of surprise.

"You're welcome," he intoned flatly. His eyes were sad, regretful. He wasn't telling me something. I got the feeling withholding information was pretty normal for gods. And given how much bad news he'd already given me, I didn't want him to break that habit now.

When I turned to leave, he called, "And Percy," his tone remorseful. I faced him. "I'm sorry. But your life was never meant to be peaceful." He disappeared in a flash of light, briefly illuminating the stormy beach. I wondered what he meant, then shrugged. I didn't have the free time to puzzle it out. My heart was already weighed down with his other gloomy warnings. I picked my way across the debris-littered dirt.

Reyna studied me with concern. "Who-"

"Family visit," I said. "Let's get this show on the road!" I waved Bobby and Hazel over, who were still looking at the canoe like it was from outer space. I pushed it with ease into the edge of the water and held it still, the waves crashing over my knees as I stood in the water.

"You can't honestly expect us to paddle across these waves," Reyna said doubtfully.

I rolled my eyes. "What am I, chopped liver? Son of Neptune here, at your service." Reyna's eyes laughed, even though her mouth only barely cracked a smile. "After you, madam."

I helped Reyna into the canoe like she was royalty and the canoe a noble trireme. Bobby was more skeptic, noticing a few holes in the hull, but he climbed in without complaint. Actually, he said, "I have to admit, a canoe called the _U.S.S. Awesome _commands a certain degree of respect." I noticed the painted purple letters on the hull and grinned like a Cheshire cat, sending a prayer to Poseidon: _Thanks, dad. I feel much safer now._ A warm wave lapped at my feet.

Hazel seemed delighted to have any mode of transportation at all. "I thought you were going to make us surf across," she admitted. I laughed this off like it was ridiculous, but secretly I thought, _Well hey, that's not a bad backup plan._

As they climbed aboard, the steel boat barely shifted under their weight. I used a wave to throw me into the boat. I landed lightly on the steel floor, my clothes dry from their brief stint in the lake water. Funny thing about being a son of the sea god: if you go into a body of water, you come out dryer than you went in. How my mother managed to bathe me as a child would remain a mystery forever.

I settled down in the front of the boat, holding it in the same place with my powers. It took a disproportionately large amount of effort to combat the angry white-capped waves for such a small raft, but the canoe remained obediently in place. The others huddled low in the boat, hiding from the stinging wind. It seemed like the storm was getting more intense with every second. "Which way did it go?" I asked, scanning the lake for the _deimone_.

"That way," Bobby said, pointing. Unfortunately, he was behind me, so that didn't help much.

"Sort of northeast. Along the shore," Hazel clarified. I ordered the canoe wordlessly to the east-northeast, aligning myself with the appropriate directional planes in my mind. The waves presented no challenge, because I pushed them aside and cut through the gap with the tip of the canoe. We flew across the choppy water without a bump, the _U.S.S. Awesome_ smoothly sailing through the flying specks of water that splashed our faces.

I looked behind me, grinning widely as we sped along. Bobby seemed taken aback by the speed of our sailing, his mouth hanging open until he got a mouthful of lake water. He hunched over, then came up spluttering, his eyes streaming from the wind. Hazel laughed at him as she lounged in the back, her arms lying along the sides of the boat, her fingertips skimming the tips of the waves. She learned her head back and stared through the cloud cover to the obscured stars.

Reyna was right behind me, hunkered against my back. She glanced up and mimed a theatrical shiver for my benefit. This only made me grin wider.

I threw my senses across the water. After a few minutes of searching, I found the _deimone_, speeding in the distance. I doubled our speed, pushing the groaning steel boat to its maximum velocity. The smooth, age-wizened steel streaked through the protesting water; within minutes, I reached the scattered cloud. It tried to pull together and stay solid in the wind, but failed, its separate filaments spreading wide in the storm. The spirit's silent voice spoke to me again. "I cannot progress any further, demigod. Your journey must be your own." – I shivered, unnerved by the similarity between its words and my father's – "You will find what you seek in the ice palace of the gods of earthly time. The Lady is a curator of sacred artifacts. She will not part easily with the object of your want. Good luck." With that, the cloud dispersed into invisible cirrus.

Reyna rose to her knees. "Now what?" she called over the wind.

"We keep going. If we keep going in the right direction, we'll run into the palace eventually. I hope," I answered. It wasn't like we had much other choice.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, we neared the Apostle Islands. The storm had abated just enough for the moon to squeeze through the heavy clouds, providing enough light to see a glacier between Outer and Stockton Island. The bright, gleaming white of it lit up the night, reflecting the moons rays across the windy waters. The islands looked dark and dangerous in comparison, their thick foliage obscuring whatever monsters might hide inside. The tall, rocky cliffs looked down thoughtfully on the bay. I could see the moon-highlighted silhouette of the ice palace atop the glacier; it gleamed in the night, unforgiving and bold.<p>

"I think we're here," I murmured, nudging Reyna. She jolted awake, inadvertently kicking Bobby in the shin. He grunted, wincing unconsciously and stretching. His hands stretched back and his elbow connected with Hazel's gut. She gasped and sat up quickly, her eyes unfocused but blazing. Strangely, when she saw it was Bobby leaning back, she stayed her hand and sighed, settling back in to the rear of the boat instead of slapping him.

"If we don't all die fighting giants, remind me to get a steel canoe for my bed when we get back to camp. That was the best sleep I've gotten in a long time," Bobby said happily, a smile spreading across his face.

"Let's work on that whole 'not dying' thing first," Reyna said with equal verve.

"I'm glad you all got some rest. You'll need it. We're here," I said.

"Ugh. We have to climb that?" Hazel asked, looking dejected as her eyes raked the slope.

"I don't see a better way up," I agreed, sympathizing with her disgruntlement. No one in their right mind would want to climb an eight hundred foot ice face on two hours of sleep.

I guided the canoe to a calm bay in a nook under the ice. The miniature ice cave rocked slowly with the rolling waves outside. I summoned my power to create a thick ice ledge next to the _U.S.S. Awesome_ so we could sit on (sort-of) solid ground. We all clambered from the boat, groaning as the stiffness in our muscles settled in. I almost forgot to tie up the canoe, until I realized it was floating into the choppier waters outside the cave.

"Mooring lines!" I called, and the bow, stern, and spring lines jumped to my waiting hands. I pulled a pair of ice anchors into existence on the back of the ledge and tied down the docking ropes with swift ease. I loved boating. Everything came so naturally.

Apparently, this was evident in my behavior. Reyna said, "You look so happy, Percy. It's kinda weird."

I hummed a little boating tune to myself as I sat down. "It helps me remember who I am," I answered softly, smiling unconsciously. Then I thought of the massive cliff we had to climb, and my pocket of happiness dissipated into sobriety. "I think we should camp here for the night. Get some rest. Eat some granola bars or something. I'm starving." I shrugged off my backpack and rummaged through the contents, digging into a pile of dehydrated fruit. The others followed my lead, munching on power bars and sweet snacks.

"We can't stay the whole night," Bobby said through a stuffed mouth. "We should get a move on. Those giants aren't going to kill themselves."

"Actually, they might…" Hazel said sarcastically.

We sat there in uncertain silence for a second. Then suddenly, we were all laughing, our voices rebounding off the white walls and swaying water. I fell to the ground holding my side, thinking of Otus' stupid expression when he'd glared at me. I tried not to choke on my dried pineapple when I saw Reyna's face was red with suppressed mirth, but I spluttered anyway, swallowing hard through my hysterics. I poked her knee, and a strain of wild, snorting laughter burst from her, as if I'd hit a hidden button.

We were inconsolable with splitting side stitches for well on five minutes, breaking up into more laughter every time we saw the flushed mash of another's face. Eventually, the cold wind nipped through the cave and startled us. Suddenly aware of my surroundings and situation again, I sat up and gulped a few bites of power bar ("Ambrosi-powerful! Taste the sweet food of the gods to keep up your strength!") before clearing my throat. Reyna and Bobby settled down, but Hazel was still giggling in a sleep-deprived manner. At my stony glance, she swallowed her hiccupping titters and pulled a falsely straight face.

"Who are the gods of earthly time?" I asked, looking to Hazel. She seemed to know all of the myths (or, as Chiron used to call them, "the old stories").

To my surprise, Bobby answered. "Well, I think the _deimone _meant the goddess of dawn, Aurora, and the god of dusk, Astraeus, who manage the flow of time on earth. From what I've heard, they're a couple now, living in the arctic somewhere. So it would make sense that this is their palace."

"I thought Apollo controlled the length of the day," I said slowly, confused.

Hazel answered swiftly, ready to talk, now that she'd composed herself. "In Greek times, that was true. But in the Roman Empire, when discipline was so important that even the gods had to be regulated, that changed. Astraeus and Aurora became the gatekeepers of the sky – in order to ride their celestial chariots across the sky, Apollo and Diana had to pass their borders. Because Apollo and Diana relied on Dawn and Dusk to speed and delay the chariots appropriate to the seasons, they, technically, were the gods of regulating earthly time."

"Ohh-kay," I said, even slower. "So Aurora will be busy a dawn, and she's the one who'll give us a relic. We need her to be there. From the stars, I estimate we've got about…" I peered through the entrance of our cave, into the murky sky. It took effort to identify the stars and moon, but – "we've got about six hours before sunrise. We can easily make it up the cliff, get a relic and leave in six hours. Besides, pre-dawn is the best time for a climb," I said, standing up. I offered a hand to Bobby, who smirked and used my help to get up. The girls clambered grudgingly to their feet and swung their packs onto their backs.

We nudged our way along the edge of the glacier, sticking to the thin ledge formed by lapping waters. When I sensed into the ice and felt the palace directly above us, I motioned for everyone to start climbing.

Like I suspected, it was grueling work. The ice was – you guessed it – _freezing_, which made my hands numb and achy. The continued strain of wedging my fingers into tight recesses for handholds nearly broke my will to continue. Nevertheless, I climbed on, keeping pace with my friends, who were all wincing and stopping occasionally to warm the fingers of one hand. I saw Hazel having the most difficulty, painstakingly wrapping her palms in gauze while clinging to the ice with just her considerable leg strength. We looked like Germanic invaders scaling the walls of Constantinople*, in one line of fighters climbing at the same height and speed. It took nearly four hours to climb the cliff – slower than what I remembered to be my usual pace, but I didn't have any lava or boulders to encourage me to climb faster. Give me a break.

At the top of the cliff, I slung my arm over the edge, grabbing on to a conveniently located rock. I slid up and over the precipice, stopping only to unhook my backpack strap from a snag. When I slithered onto the solid, icy ground, I laid there for a moment, letting my aching muscles rest. I yearned for sleep, but I didn't have time to waste. I pushed myself to my feet and helped the others over the ledge.

"That was fun," Bobby said brightly, and I saw in his eyes that he wasn't being sarcastic.

I laughed. "Yeah, it was a fantastic time. Nearly broken fingers, frostbite, and the every-present possibility of falling to our deaths – Yup, I'd do that again any day."

Bobby glared at me briefly in an I-see-where-you're-coming-from-but-I-don't-necessarily-agree kind of way; he said decisively, "You can't break _your_ fingers," and ignored my laughter.

Hazel, on the other hand, chuckled bitterly, kneading her bandaged hands together for warmth. Reyna clipped, "Come on, we need to get there before dawn. Let's go."

We turned to the ice palace, which loomed like a ghost of a different age. It's regal, indifferent façade cracked with fissures, yet held together with glossy solidarity. We marched toward it, breathing heavily in the gasping night. My breath fogged in front of my face in a white cloud, obscuring my vision hazily in short intervals. It took us almost a quarter of an hour to walk to the towering palace, avoiding fissures in the ice and fighting to stay upright against the gusting wind. When we stood in the shadow of the front portcullis, provided with a brief hiatus from the fierce wind, we all shared a look. _Here it goes,_ I was thinking.

I knocked on the thick door. Each connection between ice and invulnerable fist boomed through the palace. No one answered; instead, the door swung in on itself, allowing us entrance to the surprisingly warm foyer. Bobby swung his arms in an attempt to enliven his muscles, while Hazel automatically gravitated to a small hearth burning against the left wall. Reyna, like me, was studying our surroundings for danger and escape routes.

The foyer was a massive affair, the ceilings standing nearly twenty feet high and the hall decked with thick, fussy decorations. A bronzed oak door soared at the far side of the room, inviting visitors further into the mansion. The entrance hall gave every impression of a ski resort lodge, with plush carpets, stone tiles floors, plump stuffed furniture, multiple fireplaces, and antiques of all sorts mounted on the walls. The only thing that broke the illusion was the glassy ice walls that refused to melt, gleaming bright bluish-white in the cozy light.

"I'm taking my next vacation to the middle of Lake Superior," I noted aloud.

"Come on. They're deeper in," Reyna said, grabbing a recalcitrant Hazel by the hand and tugging her towards the door. Bobby followed, still stretching expansively. I brought up the rear, watching the dark niches of the room carefully. In the poor illumination from four crackling hearths, there were plenty of recesses for _things_ to hide in.

As I was about to leave the room and shut the door behind me, a girl in a plain brown dress caught my eye. Her eyes crackled with the warmth of a flame, bright red in the coziness of the room. She stared at me, her face devoid of emotion, and I tried to place her. I knew her from somewhere. How was she important? "Yield," she whispered, the one word floating across the interceding distance like a peace offering.

"Percy," Bobby called, watching me.

"Coming," I answered, snapping the great door shut with the conclusive groan of aged wood.

I caught up quickly, drawing Riptide and taking comfort in the light glow from the sword. The glow illuminated the path around us: the halls were winding and fluid, not quite straight but not curved either. They turned sharply at corners and split multiple times, leaving us to the old children's selection trick, though altered slightly for the benefit of demigods everywhere:  
><em>"Eenie meenie miney moe<br>Catch a nymph by the toe;  
>If she hollers, make her pay<br>Ten denarii everyday."_

By this method of random selection, we passed some halls multiple times and wound through others in subtle circles. Along the ice walls of the maze, antiques hummed with energy. We passed mounted monster heads several times, each seeming to want to jump off its plaque and eat us. Spears were frequent among the walls, each purring with a faint glow of power. Shields, swords of all variations, scaled armor, and plain gold staves passed our eyes, and we touched none of them. On one occasion, Bobby looked at a tasseled arm guard – the ancient version of a shield – practically trembling with power. The face of a ghastly woman with snake hair was pressed into the surface of the gold metal and leather, and milky white spirits roamed across the surface of the material. Bobby reached out to touch it, fascinated, until Reyna let out a startled bark and slapped his hand away. "Don't touch that," she snapped, sounding breathless. "That's Jupiter's original aegis."

"It's cursed," Hazel guessed lazily.

"Yeah," Reyna answered. Hazel shot me a knowing look, then rolled her eyes, like, _Practically everything is cursed in spooky old palaces like this._ "The spirits of the darker _deimones_ are embedded in the aegis. Eris, the spirit of Strife, Phobos, the spirit of Terror, and Ioke, the spirit of Onslaught. They're not the sort of spirits you want touching your flesh."

Bobby shied away and shivered. We continued on, passing Zeus's aegis several times in the repeating hallways, but no one made a reach for it. After almost an hour of meandering around in the maze, we made it to a very official-looking door. It was made of shimmering light in the colors of twilight. Reyna knocked on the energy-field door, and it dissipated, leaving the doorway open and unguarded. Reyna looked back to me, uncertain for a moment, and waited until I gave her an encouraging nod before she proceeded.

Once the door swung wide, I blinked dumbly for a moment. A harebrained thought tracked through my head – had we somehow circled back to the foyer? It was a near exact replica. Some dusty furniture, stuffy décor. However, inlaid in the stone floor, a polished compass rose pointed stoically in all directions, aligned with the winds of the Mediterranean (or, nowadays, the Caribbean). The east and west walls of the room featured a bay window each. The clear portals to the outside world were forged of platinum bands and heavily faceted diamond sheets, which glittered brilliantly, even in moonlight.

Oh yeah, and that's not to mention the god and goddess. They lounged in tall, gilded thrones, casting dusky light on the aged gold. Because, you know, they _literally_ exuded light. Their forms looked barely solid, shifting and changing with undulations of light. Their matching stern expressions struck me silent with their terrible beauty. To look at them was both horrible and wonderful at the same time.

The next thing I thought: my gods, that dude is _old._ Astraeus looked ancient. Creases of shadow ran down his face in deep lines. He peered curiously through rheumy eyes. He coughed up catarrh, then swallowed to speak. With surprising force for an old god, Astraeus barked, "Get off my compass, demigod brats!"

Now, I'd never known my grandfather (as far as I could remember) but I guessed he'd sound just like that if he happened to be about a bajillion years old and saw some "hooligans" standing on his lawn. We all hurried to step off the stone compass before he whipped out a godly shotgun or something.

"Peace, husband," soothed the goddess Aurora. In total contrast to Astraeus, she was the picture of strong youth. Standing tall in her formal white toga, she descended the steps of the throne platform to greet us, and probably dole out some serious butt kicking. I could see Bobby thinking the same thing. Unconsciously, almost, he drew his flaming sword, leaning forward in the swordsman's crouch. Aurora squinted at his body position, got ready to vaporize us, and –

"Uh, hold on, calm down everyone," I said, leaping between them. Simultaneously a brilliant and stupid move. Now they could both to kill me - Aurora, for getting in her way, and Bobby, for stealing his spotlight again. Curiously, neither one of them attacked.

"Why should I reward your plea?" Aurora demanded, her focus shifting to my face. I scrambled for a good reason, and as I was opening my mouth to make something up, she saw my bead necklace.

The air shimmered. Aurora look stunned for a moment, then her body pulsed, releasing a wave of blinding light. I shielded my eyes; when the burst subsided, I dared to peek in her direction.

Aurora stood in the same place – or, wait, maybe it wasn't Aurora. She had the same molten, color-shifting curls, same glowing grey eyes, same thin rouge lips, but something was fundamentally different. Her clothes matched that of the average college party-girl: skimpy dress, high heels, arm bangles and all. With one hand rested cockily on her hip, her weight edged effervescently to the side, she grinned wickedly at me, taking in my tattered clothes and haggard countenance.

"Don't look so surprised," she bubbled. "It's not like we're strangers."

When I still looked nonplussed, she sighed in mock frustration and offered a hand. "Let's try this again. Hi, I'm Eos, goddess of dawn. And you must be Percy Jackson, the hero of the gods. You're certainly _my_ hero," she added in a flirtatious purr. Her eyelashes flickered in what I supposed was a wink as she gave a breezy laugh.

I shook her hand. Her grip was painfully firm on my hand after climbing all night. "Nice to meet you," I managed, still confused.

"You don't remember?" Eos asked, looking crestfallen as her eyes searched my face hungrily.

"J-Hera stole my memories," I explained shortly, feeling it best to stick with Greek names. I didn't want to trigger a reverse transformation. I much preferred the happy dawn goddess to the frumpy Roman one. Besides, it didn't matter anymore – When Aurora switched to her Greek persona upon seeing me, it made my heritage obvious to my previously oblivious friends.

"I'll get Hera someday," Eos groused, her expression sour. "Locking me away in a forlorn ice palace, not giving me any real powers, saying 'Here, take care of these old time-cycle gods, it'll be fun!' Yeah, some bucket of laughs Artemis is when she's in a mood. All snappy and snooty. 'Don't touch me, married tart!' And now Hera's gone and stolen _your_ memories, of all people! You'd figure hero status would earn you some measure of peace in your life. Ridiculous."

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "How do we know each other?" I extracted my hand from her iron grip.

"Well," Eos said brightly, ignoring her grumping husband, "Right after you defeated Kronos," – insert huge gasps here, courtesy of my friends. I could explain later, but they were spluttering at each other, "What? _What?_" – "the gods threw that awesome party on Olympus, right? And you were dancing with that horrible daughter of Athena – Annie-bell something or other, but of course, you won't remember her, you've had your mind wiped! One thing to be grateful for, I suppose –" I bristled but kept my mouth shut "– So naturally, I interceded, breaking up that silly slow dance you were doing and inviting you instead to a lovely few waltzes with me! You were absolutely charming, all polite and handsome in your monster-gored armor and tattered clothes; and if I remember correctly, when you finally took off you armor at Annie's suggestion – when I had already recommended it myself, several times, might I say, it's not appropriate to wear armor at a party – your shirt was so ripped it fell right off! Which wasn't surprising of course, but I remember that the shirt wasn't the only thing that was ripped, if you catch my drift, but that wasn't terribly surprising either –" Here, I cleared my throat uncomfortably, remembering the moment with sudden clarity. I could hear Bobby gasping for air between loud guffaws behind me, and Hazel nudging him to shut up even though she was sniggering too.

"Uh, yeah, I remember now. You were nice to dance with. I mean, in a totally friend-like way. Yeah. Definitely," I bumbled awkwardly, only to hear Reyna's composure break into her signature snorting giggles. So much for loyalty.

"Thank you!" Eos burbled, and did a little swaying dance. "If you've come here for an extended visit with me, you can be sure the accommodations will be most plentiful, anything you ask, dear –"

"Actually," I clipped, "I'm here to visit you, of course, but I'm on a quest that requires your help. Do you think you could?"

"Certainly!" the goddess squealed. "Whatever you need!"

"Well," I said slowly, and recited the prophecy of our quest. The look in her eyes hardened, no longer adoration. "I would really appreciate it if you could give – _lend – _me a relic of some kind, one that has the power to control a major god. My team and I will need it to kill the giants."

She sobered, her expression a dangerous likeness of her Roman form. "I'll grant your wish. But understand, it's not just because you're an impossibly attractive and famous hero – it's also because my children, the wind gods, have placed their allegiances in the wrong hands. I hope that my aid may somehow make amends for their disappointing failures. You'll tell Poseidon or Zeus if you get the chance? That the Dawn still rises with Olympus?"

"Of course," I said, infinitely more comfortable with her more controlled, official manner.

"Then I think this will be the relic for you," she said, and whipped her fingers through the air like a flail. One second, her hand was empty, the next, after a loud pop, it held a gleaming pole. It was short and thick, one end tapering to a spike. The other end fattened to a tarnished gold eagle. The red gem eyes of the figurehead glared at me with a strangely familiar hatred. "I keep my best artifacts in a special plane of existence. It ensures their safety," she explained, and held the staff out to me. With unwilling fingers, I grasped the pole.

It sent a jolt of painful energy up my arm. It felt like Thalia had zapped me with a bolt of lightning. I held back a yelp, visualizing smoke from my fried brain flowing from my gaping mouth. I smiled hesitantly with clenched teeth and said, "Uh" – I coughed – "Thanks."

"Are you _sure_ we can't vaporize him?" whined Astraeus as I stepped away. "The fabric of twilight could use a little demigod dust. It adds that extra eerie sparkle everyone likes."

"Uh, thanks, but no thanks," I said, retreating faster.

Astraeus sighed. "There used to be a time where replenishing the fabric of twilight was a great honor, a noble end! Ever since that Twilight book was published, male demigods always refuse my offer. I'll turn that awful Meyer woman's head into a constellation!"

"You do that," I mumbled, then turned my back to the deities.

I heard Eos mutter, "He's always so grumpy when he's in his old form. Can't wait til I get to be the older one. Just a few more minutes…"

My friends rested their fingers readily on their weapons, prepared to spring into action if need be. "Go, go, go," I whispered to them, frantically motioning that they turn and leave the room. From the sound of it, Eos would age a few millennia in a minute, and she'd probably be infinitely more cantankerous for it. She might try to retrieve the artifact. But now that I had my hand on it, I wasn't letting go. The others understood my order and quickly spun on their heels, walking stiffly in front of me. I hid the staff with my body, like if Eos couldn't see it, she couldn't change her mind.

"I thought the _deimone _said this wasn't going to be this easy," Reyna whispered to me. Her voice was full of suspicious tension. I shrugged, moving through the giant doorway swiftly.

"When have they ever been right?" I answered quietly, daring to hope. We were through the threshold, pounding down the corridor. Safe.

"Every time," Reyna said, as she glanced over her shoulder.

Then two things went wrong at once, and we were lucky the entire palace didn't blow up. Reyna waved politely at the gods, accidentally flashing her black legion tattoo; in the same instant, my grip on the staff slipped, allowing Eos a short glimpse of the object.

"Romans!" recognized the goddess, suddenly bursting into her Empiric form. "With my best weapon!" Faint sunlight slipped through the faceted eastern window, the room exploding into the magnificent colors of just-barely dawn.

Yet that was nothing compared to Aurora's fury. She bellowed, releasing wave after wave of godly light. Hazel shoved us all to the ground and shouted, "Cover your eyes!"

When the attack stopped, we scrambled to our feet. A legion of hideous, leathery-skinned, black-cloaked demons milled at the hem of Aurora's toga; the spirits roamed next to the artifacts of their origin. They lumbered like sloths, yet darted agilely when provoked into motion. Thankfully, hoods covered the majority of the faces; a few were left bare, exposing the pus-spewing, bloody-toothed, eyeless, fleshy faces to the open air. I saw Bobby gag, pinching his nose for some safety from the smell." Well?" Aurora boomed. "After them!" The demons surged forward, charging through the doorway. Some demons blew through the wall like the ice was a sheet of tissue paper, sending shards of ice flying in all directions.

"Run?" I asked.

"Run!" Reyna confirmed solidly, and tugged my wrist. We darted through hallways, following Reyna's lead. She picked turns at random, knowing that trying to follow the path we used to enter might well land us in a dead end. And by dead end, I mean _literally_. The demons bayed like dogs at our heels, their weird, inhuman voices clawing out orders. I heard them planning to flank us, using their extensive knowledge of the path against our ignorance.

Aurora yelled in the distance, and the palace rumbled. The ground shook, throwing us all off balance for a moment. We quickly re-gathered our wits and fast pace, running like marathoners through the tunnels; yet something shifted in the palace. For a moment, I couldn't place it. Then I knew. The white spider web of thin fissures in the ice I had taken for granted earlier was splitting. The walls cracked violently, opening foot wide gashes in the walls and ceiling. Artifacts we passed in the halls crashed to the floor, knocking their spirits free.

I saw the aegis of Zeus ahead. I called for Reyna to look out, and she spotted it – but too late. We passed its primly shining plinth, and the splitting fissures caught up with it, and an ice spike burst from the wall, knocking over the pedestal, and the tassels seemed to flutter for ages as they hung in midair, about to impact with the floor. With a flump, the arm guard connected with the ice. Ioke, Phobos, and Eris burst from the leathery tassels, spinning to see us running for our lives.

"Free at last!" shrieked Ioke, sounding horribly like the banshees in legion camp training.

With the worst of the Spirits of Suffering now in tow, we bolted through the halls with renewed speed. Minivan sized chunks of the ceiling fell to the floor behind us, crushing some of the demons. It was too soon to be cheerful though: at this rate, the ice would catch up with us, and we'd look just like the monster gore currently blossoming in our wake.

"We're not going to make it," Hazel gasped in alarm, massaging a quad cramp as she sprinted. She hazarded a glance over her right shoulder, apparently saw we were losing ground, and redoubled her speed, a faint expression of panic sliding unconsciously onto her sharp features. Cracks in the walls split with increasing speed in my peripheral vision, finally overtaking us and threatening us with the weight of the whole hall. The fissures crackled around the next corner, from which a pack of demons bounded, completing their flanking maneuver.

"Ideas?" Reyna demanded, sliding to a halt. A glint of Imperial Gold flashed into form in her hand.

"Fight forward, I'll cover the back," Bobby shot back, in full warrior mode.

Annabeth's voice tickled my mind urgently, _Keep your back protected, Percy, always keep it protected… and in the meantime, protect mine too –_ "Square up," I disagreed, forcing the others into formation. They quickly agreed, each taking one of the cardinal points in a back-to-back circle. Bobby afforded me a short nod of agreement before his eyes started to glow red and I lost sense of who I was. Battle rage overtook me and the sense of _victory, victory, victory,_ thrummed through my body, and Riptide seemed to slash in a deadly, swirling arc of its own accord, my hand leading my body in a set of complex defensive forms like a dance. The demons didn't evaporate at all when I wounded them, instead healing with impossible speed. Somehow, our combined attacks managed to gain ground in the groaning hall while the demons shrieked with pained frustration. The ice was threatening to fall above us, but I just thought, _kill them, slash them, hack them, get out alive, protect the others…_

I heard someone yelling – loudly, jaggedly, distantly – then realized _it might be me_, and I saw Hazel and Reyna's mouths open in muted support of the call. The girls and I swept through balking, nightmarish creatures, deaf to the world but for our weapons as Bobby pushed us forward. Several long seconds (it might've been weeks, months, or years) of slashing the demons, spirits, freakish creatures: then their wounds started to ooze oily mist and I thought we had a chance. Bobby ordered us forward with a bellow and a gesture of his flaming sword; unfortunately, I noticed distantly, the flames on the metal licked up the walls, splitting the fissures abruptly wide, and setting free the storm of ice boulders that had threatened us the whole time.

Bobby knelt in exhaustion as the boulders began to fall; the mindless rage left me as he released his magic, and I came to my senses in time to watch a rough block of ice topple from the crumbling ceiling towards us.

Instinctively, I threw my hands in the air to intercept the weight. With my feet automatically braced wide for support, my back straight and poised, my arms bent and ready, I felt it smash down onto my outstretched fingertips. I grunted, squinting my eyes, knowing that I'd held heavier things (like the sky, for one; I remembered vaguely, realizing the origin of the mysterious grey streak in my hair) but it didn't stop me from thanking the gods for my invincibility. Without it, pretty much every bone in my body would have been shattered on the impact, and Hazel and Bobby and Reyna would've been crushed – _Reyna_ –

My eyes sprung fully open as I heaved the ice aside. I ignored my friends' amazed stares and barked, "Keep the demons away, Bobby. Hazel, get over here!" She saw what I'd spotted and gasped, rushing to my side. Reyna struggled weakly under a chunk of ice the size of a small horse. The fight burnt out of her and she fell unconscious, unable to breathe under the tremendous weight.

Though it was unusually taxing, probably because of how little sleep I'd gotten, I managed to summon my power over the sea and melt the block. As it poured off her in a cold slough, I breathed a sigh of relief – it hadn't stabbed her with a serrated edge. Yet if there were no external injures (except the nasty bruise blossoming on her arm), that meant –

"Her injuries are internal. The most dangerous kind. We've got to get her out of here," Hazel shouted over the din. Demons were screeching at the commotion Bobby had rustled up to buy us time.

"Out of the way, brother," a gruff male spirit grunted, attempting to push past our friend. He protested, shoving back, threatening the spirits with something I had no time to see. Probably the staff.

"We're getting out _now_!" I bellowed over the raucous spirits. Bobby caught my meaning and danced around to be behind me, holding the gleaming staff in hand. At my side, they eased Reyna's arms over their shoulders and drug the unconscious girl to her feet. "Hold on," I grunted, and plunged Riptide into the floor of the palace. I called the sea to well up in the crack.

The already frail surface splintered easily, creating a foot wide fault; at first, the hideous demons attempted to cross the mere crevice in the ground. Bobby fended them off handily, thrusting them back before the gap widened with a series of ferociously resounding _crack_s; the braying spirits scrambled for the precipice as they struggled to stay on top of the ice, and not land in the crashing waves below. The gap expanded still, from a mere crevice, to a fissure, to a ravine, then to a canyon of frozen, airy space, lengthening the distance between our crumbling portion of the glacier and that of the howling, pacing demons. Their black forms shrunk in the distance, standing in stark contrast to the white of the ice.

Saline waves pushed us away from the collapsing palace, the seawater mixing badly with the fresh water of the lake. _Oops,_ I thought, watching several schools of bass float to the surface of the restless water as the salt poisoned them to death. _Sorry, fish._

With the morning breeze snapping through my hair, I looked up to see the black crumbling on the white, sinking into the lake with each rumble of the iceberg collapsing. The palace was almost entirely gone, and as I watched, a massive burst of white light ripped through the remaining rubble of the glacier. Smiling wanly, I sheathed Riptide and tucked it away, turning to friends to see how I could help.

Hazel glanced up to see the light. Her eyes went wide, and she shouted, "The shockwave!" just before it hit. The air pressure blast from the explosion of light washed over us within the second, throwing us all off our feet. I clung to the ice with my powers, but there was nothing I could do when our portion of the glacier split and crumbled like the palace had. Massive sheets of ice tumbled from the sides with a sound like a lion's roar, plunging into the lake and sending swells through the water. The ice directly beneath our bodies shifted, and suddenly, we were falling into the water too.

Managing to keep our chunk of ice in one piece, I guided it as smoothly into the water below as I could. This, for you people out there, meant not smoothly at all. We were practically in free fall. Bobby and Hazel were clinging to Reyna with stricken expressions; that was more encouraging than anything else they could've done. Determination to keep them alive surged through me like a wave, and my face set in concentration as I summoned all the sea power that I could. Falling ice chunks swiftly arranged themselves to support us in a loose slope downward, catching the bottom of our suddenly titanium-hard ice floe in a controlled slide. Wind whipped across my dry eyes as I waited for the impact.

With a _thump_, our floe connected with the water. A ripple-wave splashed over the slick surface, soaking my friends through to the bone and enveloping us all in a blanket of sheer cold. Unable to do anything else, I let our floe rock like an unsteady raft across the waves (made larger by the ice still collapsing into the lake with significant force).

I crawled across the slickness to Reyna, who was lying motionless. The others clustered next to her, supremely worried.

"How is she?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I felt sick from the knowledge of it.

"Not good," Bobby murmured, trembling from exhaustion, cold, and fear.

I looked to Hazel. She just shook her head and stroked the rapidly paling girl's hand.

A sense of injustice welled up in me, eclipsing the aches and utter fatigue. I refused – simply _refused_ – to allow two of my friends to die on one mission. It may have been too late to save Meg, but maybe not for Reyna…

"You're not going to die on me," I asserted sternly, kneeling at her right shoulder. I recalled the words of the incantation in my head – they'd never been gone, not really, just floating in the back of my mind – and thought them with all my might. Head bowed in focus, spent muscles trembling, and every inch of me aching, I murmured, _"Rescind your gift, Lady Styx, nymph of the river…" _–I thought, _Thank you, Meg, for sacrificing your life so I can save Reyna's now. How did you know? _Hazel was staring at the fluttering eyelids of our friend, silently willing her to stay alive –_"Deny the spirit of Reyna entrance to the Underworld…" _– I didn't feel anything. Not at first. Then my lower back began to tingle, then sting painfully, as I realized what my mortal point was: _Annabeth_, in my lower back; she'd been with me, in my heart, the whole time. I felt emboldened, and finished the last phrase to save Reyna's life with determined intensity – _"And send her back to us, alive and whole."_

There was a terrible moment, when I prayed, _please, Styx, please,_ and none of my friends breathed, and the air was thick with tension; then there was a sudden rush of sound and color, the lapping waves sounding more pronounced, the air more vibrant and alive, and the power of the sea swooping through me; then, abruptly, it was all gone – my strength, my conviction, my consciousness – abandoning me in the vacuum of some other existence, leaving me with nothing but the cold, the howling of the demons in the distance, and the view of breath rushing involuntarily into Reyna's blushing mouth.

I didn't notice when my head hit the ice; I was drowning in Reyna's chocolate eyes as they lit up with intelligence and flickered to life. Then my own eyes went black.

* * *

><p>"<em>Wake up, Seaweed Brain,"<em> I heard Annabeth coax me impatiently. _"You'll be late to capture the flag. We haven't lost in weeks, and I don't want to start now."_

My entire body pounded with pain. Every nerve ending was tingling, like pinpricks, and my muscles felt like lead. I couldn't lift a finger, let alone my eyelids.

My head throbbed as memories came back to me in a rush; my head, which had felt empty for so long, was finally full to the brim with everything Hera had stolen. I couldn't figure out what had brought about the change, but it didn't matter. I tried to unclog my crowded brain, puzzle out my current situation and put my life into chronological order. I abandoned the effort, dazed and confused, and knew only that Annabeth had downed me in a fight and I'd been unconscious too long; I was going to miss the best Camp Half-Blood event of the week. _Five more minutes,_ I wanted to groan. But I couldn't. My mouth was clenched shut tight as exhausted muscles seized in my jaw. I breathed through my nose, my chest heavy, like Mrs. O'Leary was sitting on me.

Something wet splashed against my face, and I laboriously lifted a hand to wipe it away, letting out a slight groan. _Go away, girl. Stop licking me._ But then a human voice, one that was definitely not my hellhound's, said, "Percy, are you okay? Come on, fish boy, wake up… wake up, please, you have to… I don't want to splash you again…"

The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Annabeth," I complained, hoping she would make whoever it was go away.

"He's alive," I heard a different voice murmur, with something like relief. I didn't puzzle over it; instead, I fought against my body to open my eyes breathe properly. With all the aches throbbing through me, it was weird to feel a small point on my back not entering the chorus of bodily complaints. My Achilles' point was completely fine, giving me a point to focus my energy on and drive to wake up.

After a minute of struggling and hearing whispers like, "He definitely groaned, he's got to wake up soon", "Are you sure you're okay, Reyna? You still look a little off", and "Whose sacred staff is it, do you think?" I forced my eyes to flutter open. The quiet commentary and scene that awaited my eyes threw me off balance.

"This isn't my cabin," I mumbled. I'd been expecting the cool, grey slate of my bunker-like cabin at Camp, the soft trickle of the Iris-message fountain caressing my ears. Instead, blinding whiteness, interspersed with dawn light smeared across dark clouds, assaulted my eyes; my body rocked like I was resting on a ship in the middle of a turbulent sea. Instead of Annabeth's grey eyes and blonde princess curls, two figures loomed over me, hunched around my head.

"Are you okay?" a boy asked me, concern etched into every line of his face.

"Where am I?"

"Safe," a girl with a severe-looking French braid answered. "And alive, thank the gods." I studied her murkily, thinking through my more recent memories. They came back to me slowly, extracting themselves from the throng of old ones.

"Hazel?" I asked. She nodded. "Bobby," I said with more confidence.

"He's a bright one," he replied sarcastically, though his face split into a wide grin.

A terrible thought occurred to me. "Reyna?" I demanded, sitting up like an old man in a hospice bed.

"Right here, thanks to you," she replied, sitting nearby, hunched and cold, a small smile pulling at her lips.

"I thought you died," Bobby said bluntly, and though I knew he said it to express his anxiety and relief, it still shook me. Had I almost died? "Are you okay?" Bobby asked again, and this time, I nodded a response. Weakly, yes, but what can you expect from someone that just woke up from being nearly dead?

"Are _you_ okay, Reyna?" I croaked through a locked jaw and cramped throat.

She nodded and smiled wider, though she looked a little puzzled. "You gave up your curse for me," she said, almost asking. She went on, "Why'd you do it?"

I shrugged. Maybe not an endearing response, but it would have to do. I didn't trust my voice to lie.

Because I _did_ know why I'd done it. Why I'd given up my invincibility to save Reyna. _"Do you remember your fatal flaw, Percy?"_ Poseidon's voice thundered in my memory.

_I do now._

* * *

><p><strong>* Constantinople was the capitol of the eastern portion of the Roman Empire, Byzantium. It was eventually brought down by Germanic invaders seizing the city by climbing its many-terraced outer walls.<strong>

**Author Note: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. (And that I'm publishing it at such a late hour. The alert may have disturbed some of you in your sleep. But I just couldn't wait to post it!) Thanks to those of you who are sticking with my version til the end, even though the official's been published. I'm nearly done, and hope to finish the next few chapters with greater speed. But sometimes life gets in the way, you know? Nothing's perfect. Anyway, please review! It makes me absurdly happy when you do. :)**


	9. UPDATE

Before I start, know that I'm really sorry to tell you this.

The hard drive of my computer crashed a while back, presenting me with the Black Screen of Death. I begged for my dad (a mechanical engineer with loads of experience in computer science) to do what he could, but apparently the only real remedy for this type of computer tragedy is buying a new hard drive and reinstalling all programs. Essentially it'd be better to buy a new computer if the hard drive is expensive. My dad put his best efforts into recovering all my thousands of document files on my computer before replacing the hard drive, but found there was probably nothing he could do.

You have no idea how much pain it causes me to say this – but years and years of my hard work in writing has been wiped off the face of the planet. Sure, I backed up many of my files on flash drives and the internet, but there were many things that I wasn't ready to share with anyone just yet. As it turns out, I will never be able to recover them and share them now anyway.

I thought I would finally tell all of you, because you deserve better than a blank silence on my part in regards to this story. I lost a lot of research (a full summer of individual work and two high school classes worth) in regards to mythology and folk tales, as well as all of my plots, character backgrounds, and notes of my ideas to this story and more. I was taking a break from TSoN fanfiction for a month or two before now (I was halfway through chapter nine), so I don't remember much of what was going on. I'm telling you this because I don't think I have the willpower to re-do all of that research and remember every tiny detail of the worlds that I've lost. I might be able to remember a lot of it, but it just wouldn't be the same.

And while all of this is bad news, I figured I should tell you anyway. But don't lose hope! My dad is still working on that old hard drive, trying to glean any bit of my old files off of it, and in the mean time, I might work on the last two chapters of my TSoN AU. It would probably be completely off-the-cuff, so it won't have the depth and thought that I normally put into anything I write.

I'm telling you so you can choose whether or not you want to keep anxiously waiting for the next chapter, reading it when it comes out, and realizing that it falls flat of your expectations of me, or if you want to cut all ties with this fanfiction. Whatever suits you. And please tell me in the comments section so that I can see what I ought to do with this.

Regretfully,

Lee


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